


Making Room

by this_is_not_nothing



Category: Schitt's Creek (TV) RPF
Genre: A lot of firsts, Falling In Love, First Date, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:55:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28595829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_is_not_nothing/pseuds/this_is_not_nothing
Summary: It started like most things in Dan’s life—with a joke. A hastily tweeted Marry Me turned into a DM with an offer for drinks next time he was in New York.
Relationships: Steve Kornacki/Dan Levy
Comments: 63
Kudos: 103





	Making Room

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Audra for the film & production details/brainstorming, Liz for the sports knowledge, Gray for the beta, and all three of you for listening to me talk about this _incessantly_ for the last two months and reading every tiny section as soon as wrote it, and being the nicest and most encouraging. ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> This starts in Fall 2021, with one or two brief mentions of the pandemic, and is set in reality where things are back to normal. Well, reality as much as anything I completely made up based on a tweet can be.

It started like most things in Dan’s life—with a joke. A hastily tweeted _Marry Me_ turned into a DM with an offer for drinks next time he was in New York. There were a few more DMs after that—when they were both named sexy in very specific ways by People magazine, Steve wishing him a Happy New Year, a few replies away from the public eye.

Dan isn’t even sure what compelled him to make that joke, but there was just something so comforting about watching this tall, cute guy in medium brown pants frantically outline data, explaining why even though it looked bad on the surface, the current was moving left. He was so smart and he looked so happy, swiping across the states, revealing polling numbers. Dan sent the tweet—mostly laughing and not really thinking.

It’s almost a year later before Dan finds himself in New York, until recreational travel seems safe, until leaving his bubble seems reasonable. He’s going for a long weekend, to finally, _finally_ see Trevor. On a wine-fueled whim, he had messaged Steve—it’s not like he had anything to lose—almost ten months to the day, and now they have plans Sunday evening.

Steve had asked if he wanted to be impressed or wanted to go somewhere low-key and Dan had picked low-key. The whole thing was so ridiculous—a thirsty tweet, a delayed date—that asking to be wooed felt wrong.

Dan is standing on the corner of 7th and B in front of an abysmal dive bar about to head in when he hears his name. He turns and there’s Steve, looking very cute in jeans and a half zip sweater, his hair just as disheveled as it is on MSNBC.

Steve extends a hand, which makes Dan smile as they shake. “Nice to meet you, in person.”

“You too, I’m glad this worked out,” Dan says.

Steve holds the door open for him and the vibe inside is charmingly gross. The bar is a long U-shape, with an impressive assortment of liquor bottles and Christmas lights in the center. Steve guides them to the back right side of the bar where it’s a little quieter.

“This good?”

Dan nods. He feels ridiculously overdressed in Prada pants and a lightweight sweater, which is not really overdressed at all. He pulls off his jacket and puts it over his stool to sit on, and he can’t remember the last time he was in a place like this. It feels like a lifetime ago, and not just because of the pandemic.

“Are those year-round? Or did Christmas come early?” Dan asks, gesturing at the lights.

Steve shakes his head and gives an exaggerated shrug, hands up by his shoulders. “I don’t think Christmas ever left.”

Steve orders an IPA and Dan orders a Rye and Ginger, which isn’t his usual drink but seems safe. When the bartender asks for a credit card for their tab, Steve covers his hand as he reaches for his wallet. “I said drinks were on me.” He smiles at Dan, soft and intimate and a little shy. He’s really very charming in person.

Dan finds out Steve just signed a deal with NBC Sports—his football analysis will be a regular feature and he’s going to start doing segments for the Olympics. Steve explains that they’re going to try to find a way to apply the “Path to the Playoff” models to other sports as well, not just football.

He tells Steve what he can about his new project. Dan usually tries not to talk about work too much, no one wants to hear about that. People are interested in dating someone famous, but are usually less concerned with hearing about the details that made them that way. But Steve seems genuinely interested, asking a lot of questions, and he answers Dan’s questions about his own work with the same level of enthusiasm Dan feels when he gets to talk about his own work. It’s not Schitt’s Creek, in terms of how personal it feels, but creating it during isolation has paired him with it in a way that he can’t imagine would have happened otherwise.

The bartender sets another round in front of them. “On me, good to see you again Steve.”

Steve ducks his head. “Thanks, Mer, it’s good to see you, too.”

“Do you come here a lot?” Dan asks.

“I do. Meredith usually puts on the Boston games for me, she grew up there too.”

“Ah, that’s very nice. Baseball or football? Or are you an equal opportunity viewer?”

“Baseball mostly, but I wasn’t above a Sunday afternoon game before I started working with the NFL.”

“Ah, so generous,” Dan teases.

“Are you a sports guy?” Steve asks carefully.

“I’m not above a Jays game with my dad,” Dan jokes, parroting Steve.

“How magnanimous,” Steve smiles. Dan likes this version of Steve, a little looser—but not much—teasing him.

The third drink is just as easy, and they move past work to TV and reading. They are both huge _Succession_ fans and there’s little reading overlap. Dan is reading the new Sally Rooney and Steve is re-reading _What It Takes._ Steve ends up promising to read about fictional people muddling through life in Ireland and Dan somehow ends up being convinced to give a thousand page book about the 1988 presidential election a try.

“One more?” Meredith asks.

“I—” They both start and trail off and look at each other.

“I have to be at the studio pretty early,” Steve explains, a touch of what Dan thinks might be regret in his voice.

“That’s okay, I’m staying with a friend and promised him a glass of wine when I got home.” Dan smiles. This is probably for the best. After another drink he would probably embarrass himself.

Meredith drops the check, and Steve scribbles a line at the bottom. He puts his card in a well-loved leather wallet, and then shoves the receipt in his pocket, loose. Dan feels his eyes go wide and blinks them back into normalcy, but Steve must catch the expression.

“I know, I’m a mess.” Steve laughs a little at himself.

Dan gives his shoulder a squeeze, his fingers wrapped around a surprisingly soft sweater, his hand trailing down Steve’s arm a little. “Thank you.”

Steve leans into Dan’s hand, almost imperceptibly. “You’re welcome.”

Then they’re back in the street, the city quiet at this hour on Sunday. Steve’s standing in front of him, with a question in his eyes, and Dan feels like every cell in his body is answering yes.

It’s a terrible first kiss, Steve’s nose smooshed into him weird and they both try to take control, all teeth and lips. Steve pulls back, looking embarrassed but happy—a grin so big it’s practically a laugh, and Dan hasn’t smiled so hard at someone in a long time.

“Okay. Let’s try that again.” Steve smooths his sweater. “That was a little glitchy.”

Dan nods. “Yeah, let’s try that again.”

Steve leans forward slower this time, his fingers so gentle on Dan’s jaw, angling his face up. Dan lets him, eyes on Steve’s as he inches closer and closer, until his mouth is on Dan’s and Dan’s eyes are closed. Steve kisses like him, thorough and passionate and warm. His hands are in Dan’s hair and Dan runs his hands all over Steve’s back. He’s taller than Dan, and not as broad, but they fit together well. Dan teases Steve’s mouth open, and then they’re just making out and it’s not glitchy at all.

Dan smiles out the window the whole ride back to Trevor’s, replaying all the best parts of the night.

**

The next time Dan’s in town, they meet for drinks on a Friday in an obscenely dark cocktail lounge. Steve said this time he wanted to impress Dan. Dan didn’t want to admit how impressed he was last time.

He’s been on two dates since then, with people who were on dates with Daniel J. Levy, creator of Schitt’s Creek. Steve was on a date with Dan, Deb and Eug’s son, former Gap Kids employee.

Steve orders something called a Cyclorama and Dan laughs, because Steve actually does look like the kind of guy who bikes. Dan orders a Century Ride, so apparently they are drinking on a theme tonight.

The drinks are carefully delivered by a surprisingly cheery waitress—Dan would have thought smiling was banned at this kind of dark, trendy place. Dan supposes that’s why Steve likes it here though.

“Do you bike?” Dan asks, after trying a sip of his drink. It’s exceptionally good.

“What?” Steve looks confused. “I mean, occasionally. Do you?”

“Oh just—because of the drink.” Nothing like needing to explain your own joke or thought process to impress a date. But then, Steve’s face breaks out into a huge grin and that makes Dan feel a little better. “But, I do have a Peloton. An unfortunate side effect of quarantine.”

“I like to ride over to the FDR Memorial on Roosevelt Island. Have you been?”

“I don’t even know where that is,” Dan admits, laughing. This city has always been too big for him to really know.

“It’s beautiful. It was designed by Louis Kahn. I think you’d like it.”

“Maybe you can take me there sometime.” Dan does think he’d like that.

They have a drink and then another drink. The conversation is easy and fun—effortless. They’re both leaning on the tiny table, tilted toward each other. Steve runs a hand up his arm and Dan hears himself saying _let’s get out of here._ Dan’s hotel is closer than Steve’s apartment, and it’s suddenly, urgently important to Dan that they are alone.

Steve is a really good kisser—even better than Dan remembered. It turns out that’s not the only thing Steve is very good at, and the way he smiles at Dan when he takes off Dan’s sweater, makes Dan feel sexy and reassured all at once.

They fall into the big bed, naked, Steve kissing a trail down his body. With a kiss to his hip, he looks up at Dan and whispers _can I_ and Dan nods. He wants this with Steve so much. Steve takes his time, his mouth slow and hot and tight around Dan, paying so much attention as Dan trembles and comes apart.

It turns out, this is effortless with Steve too. Dan goes slow, watching his legs fall open and his face getting flushed. He likes seeing Steve like this, naked, telling Dan what makes him feel good, gasping when Dan finally gives it to him. It’s an easy give and take, leaving them both grinning at each other across two very white pillows. Steve’s hand is resting lightly on Dan’s hip, his thumb rubbing a small circle there. It feels like the start of something bigger.

**

They graduate past DMs into texts, and Steve is a predictably terrible texter, leaving messages unanswered for hours or even days. Dan’s not much better lately, if he’s being honest—things he wants to see getting buried under notifications of things he needs to see. Dan thinks about that night—and the next morning—more than he wants to admit. When him and Steve do manage to connect, Dan smiles for hours.

So Dan is surprised when his phone lights up and it’s Steve _and_ it’s FaceTime. Dan picks up, overwhelmed by how much he wants to see Steve’s face. Instead, he’s greeted by his own, ten stories tall, on a billboard for his latest role.

“Thought you’d want to see this!” Steve yells over the sirens wailing by. He flips the camera and holds up a finger, the two of them smiling at each other over the din of New York and the low music in Dan’s house.

The siren finally passes. “Hi,” Steve says. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, it’s good. You’re good.” Dan can see his own ridiculous smile in the corner of the screen, but there’s no way to hide it.

“Good,” Steve says with a laugh. “What are the chances you’ll be here to see in person anytime soon?”

“Is that an invitation?” Dan wants it to be.

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Steve starts walking again and Dan can see himself fading into the background, towering over Steve in a way he doesn’t person.

“I could—next weekend?” Dan offers. He had dinner with Megan last week, and she called him out for mentioning Steve three times before appetizers. Her exact words were, “Quite the crush you have there.” Dan wanted to argue, but truthfully, he was way past crush. He liked Steve as a person, he liked that he could be himself with Steve.

Steve nods. “I can move some stuff around.”

**

Dan is in a taxi, heading to Steve’s. Steve fucking Kornacki, who, when he found out Dan was flying in on the red-eye, texted him back that he would take off Friday so he could be home when Dan landed, followed by his address. Dan had booked a suite at The Standard in the East Village again, and spent 12 hours panicking. Is this a sex weekend, or something more? Dan has no idea but he finally had to admit to himself that he wanted to spend more time with Steve either way. It feels like, whatever is happening with them—even with intermittent texts and calls across so many time zones—has Dan opening up a part of himself that’s been closed for a long time.

Steve’s building is non-descript, brick, all fire escapes. Dan rides the tiny elevator up, wondering if this is a mistake. He canceled his hotel room, but he told Trevor to be prepared for an impromptu guest, in case staying with Steve turns out to be a mistake.

Steve opens the door in a faded Red Sox t-shirt and sweatpants and his hair is even messier than usual. Dan wants to kiss him.

“You’re here. Hi.” Steve ushers him in and takes his bag. “I can take your coat?”

“Hi. I’m here.” Dan hands it over and watches as Steve hangs it over one of his coats on a hook near the door.

“You’re here,” Steve repeats, turning back to Dan, opening his arms. Dan steps into them and Steve wraps him up in a tight hug, fitting them together. It’s been a long time since Dan wasn’t the taller person, and he tucks his face into Steve’s neck, into the worn cotton and soft skin, smelling like the kind of soap that comes in a green bar. Dan tilts his head up and kisses Steve then, because he still wants to and because he can. It’s brief and slightly off-center and familiar all at once.

“Do you want a coffee? A nap?”

“It’s clean,” Dan says instead. He has been worried for _days_ Steve’s apartment would like a shoebox full of papers. The only evidence of the man who crumpled up a receipt and shoved it straight into his pocket is the table, a defacto desk, stacked high with books and papers, post-its on the wall over it.

“Well, I had it cleaned.” Steve laughs, looking charmingly embarrassed. “I know my limits.”

“A nap might be good. I never really sleep on that flight. I just want to change?”

Steve shows him where the bathroom and the bedroom are. “I’ll be right in.”

Dan washes his hands, brushes his teeth and then heads to the bedroom, changing into joggers and a t-shirt. Is he supposed to get into Steve’s bed? Is he supposed to go rest on the couch? This is why Dan should have stayed in a hotel.

Steve knocks on the door in his own apartment before walking in, which is ridiculous but sweet. “Got you a water. The left is my side. But, I can—the couch is comfy.”

“The books were a bit of a giveaway,” Dan jokes. “But I can take the couch? It’s your bed, you have a side and everything.” Dan should be in a king-size bed four blocks away right now.

“I don’t want you on the couch,” Steve blurts out. “I should have been more clear when I invited you. I want you to stay here, with me.” He gestures to the bed. “But only if you want.”

“I want,” Dan says. He does want. He wants a lot.

“Okay then. Good.”

They both get into bed, lying there next to each other like two sad Twix bars. The problem with Steve making Dan feel like himself is that he’s still a mess under the fame and the Thom Browne and the Emmys. He feels unsure and nervous, there’s no room here to make a self-deprecating joke, or to pretend he doesn't want this. He rolls over to face Steve, to look for clues about what the fuck they’re supposed to do now.

Steve holds an arm open and Dan goes, moving closer. Steve waits, letting Dan figure out where he wants to be, and Dan leans up and kisses him, sliding his hand over Steve’s jaw, parting his lips to fit Steve’s. Their glasses collide and they pull back laughing. Dan carefully takes off Steve’s glasses, setting them on the nightstand, and then doing the same with his.

He tucks himself into Steve’s side, Steve’s arm wrapping around Dan, his hand rubbing up and down Dan’s back and the last thing Dan remembers thinking is _I’m here_.

**

Dan wakes disoriented and alone, fumbling for his phone and glasses. It’s almost noon, which means Dan’s been asleep for hours. He scrolls through thirty emails, ten of which he really needs to reply to, but it seems rude to stay in bed even longer.

He walks into the living room and Steve is hunched at the table on his laptop. “Hi. I hath risen.”

Steve turns toward Dan, his whole face lighting up. “Ah, how do you feel? How did you sleep?”

“Good on both fronts—thank you.” Dan sits on the sofa, he figures if he’s allowed to be in Steve’s bed, he can sit.

“I have a couple of things I need to finish up—do you mind?” Steve pulls an embarrassed grimace, and Dan knows exactly how he feels.

Dan laughs. “Actually, that would be perfect. I have some emails I really need to answer.”

He gets his laptop and then re-settles onto the sofa, his back against the arm, legs stretched out in front of him. He takes care of the easiest emails and opens up the first of the complicated ones, when Steve comes over, laptop in hand and taps Dan’s calf. Dan folds his legs up and Steve sits down, pulling at Dan’s ankles until his toes are under Steve’s thighs.

They sit there silently typing, occasionally pausing to grin at each other, until Dan’s inbox is mostly in order and he doesn’t wish he was at a hotel.

They order pizza and rearrange themselves, working on Steve’s couch for hours. Dan moves past emails and onto writing, and knocks out a few pages with his laptop balanced precariously on Steve’s long legs over his lap. The apartment gets dark, in that sneaky late afternoon way, where it goes from golden to unsettlingly dim in the span of minutes. Steve reaches back to turn on a lamp. “So—I thought we could go to dinner? I made reservations at The Odeon for eight, but if you aren’t in the mood for that, we have options?”

“The Odeon, really?” How did he even know that was one of Dan’s favorites?

“You mentioned it last time you were in town, and I just thought—”

Dan wraps a hand around Steve’s ankle. “That sounds perfect.”

Eventually, the time can no longer be ignored, no matter how in-the-zone Dan is. He leaves himself notes that he hopes are specific enough breadcrumbs to jog his memory later and shuts his laptop. “Can I shower?” He sets his laptop on the coffee table.

Steve nods, and does the same, but when Dan goes to get up, Steve pulls him down onto him and leans up for a kiss. They’re both too tall for this couch, and Dan is certainly too heavy to be laying on Steve this way, but with the unhurried way Steve’s mouth is moving over his, the way his hands end up slipping under Dan’s shirt—they stay like that for a few minutes until Steve sends Dan off to shower breathless. Dan thinks the sofa might be the exact right size.

It’s been a long time since Dan got ready with someone that wasn’t a cast member or part of a team to make sure Dan looked as photogenic as humanly possible. It’s nice to have Steve moving in and out of his space, watching Dan as he brushes his teeth while Dan styles his hair in the cramped bathroom, dropping a kiss on Dan’s shoulder when he goes to change.

**

They spill out of a cab onto the neon tinted street and Dan pulls Steve close to smooth the lapel on his peacoat.

“Shall we?” Dan whispers, his breath just visible between them. Steve leans forward, softly kissing Dan twice.

“Okay, let’s go.” Steve grabs Dan’s hand and drags him to the door.

The hostess blinks with recognition at one or both of them and puts them in the corner thankfully. Dan doesn’t know if Steve asked for this, or they just got lucky, but either way, he’s relieved. Dan takes the seat with his back to the room, trying to minimize the stares—the back of his head is more anonymous. He wants to be able to focus on Steve, who had his apartment cleaned and doesn’t think it’s weird he wanted to spend this afternoon writing in silence next to him, who booked a table at one of Dan’s favorite places based on an off-hand comment _weeks_ ago.

By the time the drinks arrive, they’ve negotiated the lack of leg room, Steve’s foot hooked around Dan’s ankle, foreshadowing of all the ways they’re going to find to fit together.

The corner can’t save them, though, and the whispers are slowly becoming impossible to ignore. They get interrupted with a passing _love your work_ over a Caesar salad and catch someone snapping a photo of them clinking their second round together.

“This is the worst part of it,” Steve says quietly.

Dan nods. “I should have known going on a date with People’s 12th sexiest person of 2020 would attract attention.”

Steve tips his head back, laughing. “Yeah, it’s me. Not you, with your Emmys and your photoshoots and your hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Dan teases.

“Nothing is wrong with your hair,” Steve says, suddenly serious. “It looks great.”

“Oh—thanks,” Dan says softly. “You’re right though, this is the worst part. I’ve never gotten used to it. It’s weird—I’ve gotten more famous in the last year, but with everything going on, I’m almost never in public? It makes it hard.”

Steve nods. “I still feel like I went into a coma during the election coverage and woke up to a new life.”

“Growing up, it was the hardest part about having a famous parent. Being approached. Finding ways to have private moments in public.” Dan feels self-conscious now, so he takes a sip of his cocktail.

“I can’t even imagine.” Steve gives his head a small shake.

“Growing up in Canada helped, and my parents really protected us from a lot of that. I imagine your childhood was a little more normal?”

Steve smiles, thinking about it, and then starts talking about his parents and his sister and Massachusetts and baseball games, and Dan focuses on Steve, the rest of it falling away, until it’s just them again.

They walk home, through quiet blocks and noisy intersections, and on a non-descript corner, in the flashing light of a don’t walk sign, Steve takes his hand. He doesn’t let go until they're standing in Steve’s living room kissing, Steve taking off his coat and leading him to bed. Dan hasn’t been this caught up in a moment in a long time.

Dan wakes up with Steve everywhere—his head on Dan’s chest, a leg thrown over his, his hand resting on Dan's hip. Dan couldn’t move if he wanted to, so instead he closes his eyes and dozes, Steve warm against him.

When Dan wakes up again, Steve is kissing a line across his shoulder, his chest, his neck, everywhere he can reach. Dan trails his fingers across Steve’s back, trying to memorize this moment for when he’s home, for when life gets in the way, for when this is just a memory.

Steve picks his head up and kisses Dan gently. “Good morning?” His voice goes up a little at the end.

“Good morning,” Dan whispers back.

The weather is unseasonably mild, so Dan finds himself on a bike Steve borrowed from his friend, Mike, a nice guy who looks like he could be cast as the Sports Best Friend in every sitcom ever made.

Dan is trailing slightly behind Steve, pedaling alongside a river. Steve insisted biking was the best way to get to Roosevelt Island and Dan hopes that his very occasional Peloton rides translate to not getting so out of breath he has to escape in the night and never speak to Steve again.

He’s a little wobbly at first, but what they say is true, and he gets the hang of it after a few blocks. When they pass the UN building, Dan hopes that means they’re almost there.

“You know, at least on the Peloton, very fit people lie to me and tell me I’m doing great,” Dan jokes.

Steve stands up and pedals harder. “Dan, you’re doing amazing!”

Dan laughs and pedals harder, too, until they’re riding next to each other again.

“See, I knew you could do it.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “I had to do a scene on a bike, for my show, I’m a professional.” Dan wonders if anything will ever feel as much his as Schitt’s Creek did.

“I can tell. Very polished pedaling over there, Levy.”

“Well, I try,” Dan says as haughtily as he can manage in a bike helmet.

Roosevelt Island feels like it’s part of a different place, or this city in a different time. There’s an actual tram that goes there, which reminds Dan of Barcelona. He spent an entire afternoon by himself at the Miró museum and wandered the nearby gardens, taking the funicular back down during twilight, the city awash in pastels around him.

They didn’t think to bring a blanket, so Steve sits in the grass and Dan is next to him, laying down with his head on Steve’s lap. His legs are tired, and he is pretty sure he won’t be able to walk by the time they get back to Steve’s.

“Have you ever been to Barcelona?” Dan asks.

Steve gently runs his hand through Dan’s hair, which Dan wants to warn him is probably gross and sweaty. “I’ve never been to Spain. Is it nice?”

“I’d like to go back as an adult, but yes. It’s very beautiful and very old, without actually feeling elderly.”

“Maybe someday,” Steve says, in the vague way of someone who never takes off of work. Dan knows that tone.

“I think you’d like it,” Dan says. Steve runs his hair through Dan’s hair again and he relaxes into the touch. “You were right about this, I do like it.” The memorial is austere without being cold, the stone on the steps a blinding, shimmery white in the late fall light.

“I’m glad.” Steve looks down at Dan and smiles, small and private. There’s hardly anyone here today, it’s easy to pretend they’re the only two people in New York.

The ride home feels twice as long, Dan’s legs burning the entire last stretch. When they get to Mike's, Dan carefully gets off the bike, trying to ignore the fact that everything hurts, even his hands. He opens and closes his fingers a few times, trying to loosen them back up. Steve catches him as he finishes locking up his bike. He takes one hand, then the other rubbing his thumb just hard enough across Dan’s palm a few times. It feels good, loosening up the ache. “Better?”

Dan nods. “I don't know why I was holding on that tight.”

“I used to do that too, it made me feel steadier.”

Mike insists they stay for a beer and Dan tries hard not to be too embarrassed about his hair. The Knicks played the Celtics last night, apparently, and the ensuing conversation might as well be in a foreign language. Mike talks about the game like it’s a ballet, all motion and teamwork, and Steve keeps hitting him with stats.

“Bell curves have edges though,” Dan says, smirking at Steve.

“See, Dan gets it. There are things the _numbers_ can’t account for.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side. Do you have a whiteboard? Let me show you.” Steve jokes.

**

“I’m not moving from here for the rest of the day,” Dan pronounces. He showered and put on joggers and a t-shirt and promptly collapsed on the bed.

“I’m glad you got to meet Mike.” Steve pulls a dark gray t-shirt over his head, a contrast to the lighter gray sweats he’s wearing. “Do you want some wine?”

“Can I have it in bed?” Dan asks.

Steve laughs and nods.

“Then yes, please.”

Steve comes back with a beer and a glass of wine. “If you don’t spill, I might even let you eat in bed.”

“Oh, the _dream_. That’s actually my favorite part about hotels. I never eat in my own bed.”

“I don’t usually either, but—you’re an exception.” Steve sets down the drinks on the nightstand and sits next to Dan.

Dan doesn’t know what to say, so he leans over and kisses Steve, as best he can with the smile he can’t contain.

“I was thinking we could order in. Maybe Veselka?” Steve says. Dan kisses him again, pulling Steve until he’s sitting on his lap and Dan has to tip his head back. Dan winds a hand around his neck, trying to pull him even closer. Steve kisses back with a slow sweetness that Dan feels everywhere. Steve pulls back, looking dazed, his glasses askew and his lips pink.

“Wow, you really like pierogies.”

“Something like that,” Dan laughs.

Steve orders them too many pierogies and makes him try the stuffed cabbage and gives him a very worn BU sweatshirt to put on when he’s cold. Dan falls asleep with Steve’s arms wrapped around him, and he doesn't want to go home.

**

Seven weeks later, Dan finds himself in a suite at The Standard. He’s here for work this time, and he contemplated telling Steve, but didn’t want Steve to feel obligated. They’ve texted some, but schedules and distance keep it from being anything serious, with longer and longer stretches between messages. Dan figured it was easiest to just let one perfect weekend exist than to try to force some bi-coastal nightmare.

He had meetings all day, and collapsed onto the bed, and is currently contemplating ordering room service. It seems like a waste, in a city with so many options, to eat a generic cheeseburger in bed, but Trevor is out of town this weekend, up in Hudson with Michael and Julio, and Julia is busy too. The idea of dining alone, or worse, with someone he needs to be _on_ with, is even more unappealing than settling for a subpar burger.

So, instead, he’s laying on his side, shoes dangling off the bed, reading the room service menu. He calls down and orders a burger with cheddar, medium rare, a side of fries and a bottle of Pinot Noir. Instead of texting Steve, he forces himself to get his laptop out and works on script revisions based on the producer notes he got today. It makes him miss Schitt’s Creek, the collaborative nature of that show. Those notes never felt like he was sacrificing quite so much.

Dan flies home in the morning after a mediocre burger and a worse night’s sleep, thinking about Steve and his terrible mattress and his long arms, just blocks away. The whole flight home, he can’t stop thinking about what could have been.

**

Dan’s back again two weeks later, in another room that’s a perfect mirror of the last one. The first night he goes to Julia and Toby’s for champagne and baby snuggles, and the second night Dan sees Trevor. He suggests The Odeon but Dan picks Via Carota instead. He doesn’t need a reminder of what he’s been avoiding. The third night, he goes for a long walk, staying away from Steve’s block but accidentally walking by his friend Mike’s place.

Dan realizes he's been hoping to run into Steve.

He walks back to the hotel, trying to figure out what he’s doing here, why he keeps staying in this neighborhood, in a city full of hotels. Their weekend two months ago was effortless and fun and _nice_ , and Dan doesn’t want to ruin it by being himself—busy and insecure and finicky. It’s been a long time since he was in any danger of revealing his real self to someone—since he wasn’t playing the role of Dan Levy. It’s also been a long time since he woke up with someone he wanted to go to breakfast with.

Steve took him to a Moroccan place for breakfast, overfilled with people and mismatched furniture with great coffee and better eggs, it made Dan feel like every morning could be that uncomplicated.

Back in LA, it was harder to trust that feeling was real, that he hadn’t just imagined it out of some desperate desire to be with _someone_ , to have the kind of story he was getting great at writing or playing a supporting role in.

It felt so natural with Steve, in a way that was almost scary. Dan has flung himself into a lot of relationships too fast, with too many one-sided expectations, and he promised himself he wouldn’t ever do that again. They still talk occasionally, and it still makes Dan smile, but they're both too busy. He’s starting to wonder if this isn’t just as foolish—never trying instead of trying too hard, never taking a leap forward for fear of the landing. The thing is, with Steve—it doesn’t feel like it would be a leap. It feels like something they can decide to do together, at whatever pace works. Dan just has to be willing to try.

On the elevator back up to his room, he takes the advice the gay best friend would give to the main character, and texts Steve to let him know he’s in town and it would be nice to see him. Dan’s barely back in his room when his phone rings.

“Hey.” Dan wants to apologize. He wants to tell Steve to come over, he wants to tell Steve he’s on his way.

“You’re here?” Steve sounds happy and confused. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dan shrugs even though Steve can’t see it, too embarrassed at how much anxiety he felt over reaching out and feeling relieved Steve seems glad to hear from him. “I just—didn’t know how much time I’d have. I have a lot of meetings this week.”

“I’m just leaving the office now, do you want to grab dinner?”

“I’d like that. I just have some work I need to do first?” If he hadn’t been wandering around like a lovesick teen in some 80’s movie, he’d be able to meet Steve now.

“Why don’t I bring you dinner to you then? Where are you staying?”

“The Standard in Cooper Square. Room 6068.”

“Ah, right by me, that’s easy. I’m just going to stop home and change, then I’ll be there.”

“Okay, see you then.” Dan falls onto the bed in relief and joy, before grabbing his laptop. He wants to get as much done as he can before Steve gets here.

He’s about two-thirds through what he needs to do when there's a soft knock at the door. Fuck. He wanted to fix his hair before Steve got here. He glances quickly in the mirror, but there’s not much he’s going to be able to do now. He looks tired and vaguely disheveled, like someone who was on the other side of the country less than 72 hours ago.

Dan opens the door and Steve looks great. Dan is already so glad he’s here. He’s in jeans and a peacoat and one of his ubiquitous half-zip sweaters, holding up a bag of take-out. “Dinner’s here,” Steve says, leaning to kiss Dan hello briefly—too briefly really. He sets the bag down on the small table between the over-designed armchairs. “Unless you’d like to eat in bed? It is a hotel, after all.”

“I think we have to.” Dan takes a step closer to Steve, watching as he takes off his coat.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Steve’s face is open like he’s really wondering, not judging.

“I don’t know. I just didn’t want you to feel obligated. To see me.” Dan looks down at his cuticles and then forces himself to look at Steve.

“Did I make you feel like an obligation?” Steve’s brow furrows. It’s the face Dan would make if he had to do complicated math on live television.

“No. No, you didn’t. I was just worried, you might feel like you had to. Make time.”

“I see.” Steve's face softens and he steps closer, into Dan’s space, his hand coming up to cup his jaw. “I don’t feel obligated.” Steve kisses him then, careful and deliberate and full of want, like they have all the time in the world. Dan melts into it, sliding his hands up Steve’s back, until Steve’s teasing his tongue across Dan’s lips, his hands making an even bigger mess of Dan’s hair. They keep kissing, and Dan can’t believe he didn’t let himself have this last night, the night before, two weeks ago.

Steve pulls back, pressing one last gentle kiss to Dan’s lips. “Do you need to finish work, or do you want to eat? I grabbed paninis, so either way.”

In the end, having Steve, inches away is too tempting, and it’s very late before the work gets done or the paninis get eaten.

**

In the morning, Dan wakes up to a soft kiss on his forehead. “I need to go home and change, I have to be in early,” Steve whispers.

“Plus no Diet Coke here,” Dan tries to tease, but comes out more like a sleepy rasp.

“Plus no Diet Coke here,” Steve agrees and kisses him lightly. “Come over tonight. We can order Chinese or something? Bring your laptop if you need to.”

“Are you sure?” Dan is not awake enough to hide his insecurity.

“Very sure. _So_ sure.” Steve kisses him again. “Get some sleep, you were up late.”

Dan dozes a little longer, rolling into the middle of the bed, remembering last night. When he finally wakes up, he has to hurry to a meeting in an hour. The whole day is a mess, meetings going long, a lunch he can’t get out of, and by the time he has a minute to breathe, it’s almost 5 and there’s a text from Steve. _Come over whenever, I’m home._

Dan decides to go right to Steve’s, partly because if he goes to his hotel, he’ll lay down and never leave, and partly because… Steve.

“You’re here.” Steve looks really happy to see him, leaning in and kissing him. Dan takes off his coat, hands over the bottle of wine he brought, and Steve kisses him again.

“I have some work to do, and I’m sure you do, too, do you want a glass while we finish up?” He offers.

“That’d be good, yeah.”

“Be back in second.” Steve gestures vaguely at the couch as he wanders into the kitchen.

Dan curls up in the corner of the couch with his laptop and scans his inbox trying to figure out where to start. Steve’s apartment is messier this time, papers stacked randomly and an assortment of water glasses littered about. It’s not dirty, it just has a disheveledness that matches its owner. Steve appears with a glass of wine for Dan, then reappears with his own wine and laptop. It has the same warm easiness he felt last time he was here, and he shifts until his feet are bumped up against Steve’s legs.

Dan gets through his list of Need To Do and looks up to find Steve squinting unhappily at his screen.

“What are you working on?”

“I’m looking at models for the House races in November, which is still nine months away, and it’s just—why do they even have these? It’s been thirteen months since the presidential election and these models are built on the same stack of—I don’t want to say lies, but definitely misinformation. They can’t even properly explain how they’re weighting these. At this point, editorially, it’s almost a disservice to the viewers for us to even discuss them. They can’t get the people they _think_ they need to answer the polls, so now they are guessing both who that demographic is and how they’re going to behave in an election that has a rotating cast of factors we’ve never seen. It’s irresponsible for us to keep reporting these models if we can’t show how they could be incorrectly weighted, or what information is missing from them.” Steve pauses for a breath and a sip of wine and Dan mirrors him.

Dan’s been nodding along, mostly following this rant. Steve has a way of wording things in a way that is simple but nuanced that makes Dan feel like he’s along for the ride, not just watching the race.

Steve looks over at him suddenly. “You’re very beautiful. Just. Yeah.” Steve smiles and places a hand on Dan’s thigh, giving a small squeeze. The compliment and the touch catch Dan off-guard, and make him feel warm and cared for.

“I think,” Steve continues, like he didn’t just make Dan feel a dizzying array of emotions. “I’m going to pull the data from some key counties from the last few elections and compare turnout of actual voters, how that changed and then cross-reference socio-economic data. Brown County in Wisconsin, for starters, and Maricopa in Arizona. Maybe Allegheny in Pennsylvania. Cobb or Fulton from Georgia. Most of Georgia, honestly. We need to look closer at the behaviors of people showing up and less at what people we manage to get on the phone are potentially lying about. Okay, that was probably more than you bargained for.”

“It was the right amount. I love hearing about what you’re working on.” Dan means it, Steve is so passionate and brilliant and Dan really likes that about him—the way he seems to do everything so fully.

“What are you working on?”

Dan leans over and kisses him instead, this man who is kind and funny and generous and thinks Dan is beautiful and wants to _tell_ him that. Steve makes a surprised gasp, but then his hands are everywhere, in Dan’s hair, wrapping around his waist, seeking the skin under the edge of his sweater, pulling him closer and closer.

Dan’s in town for another five days, and they alternate nights between Steve’s apartment and Dan’s hotel room, depending on whose day ends first. On Dan’s last night, Steve brushes a thumb so gently across his cheek and says, “Next time, stay with me.”

**

Three weeks later, Dan does. Part of Dan worries this is too much, too fast. There’s too much about himself he won’t be able to hide over the six nights he’s staying with Steve—and an even more terrifying part wonders what it would be like to stop trying to compartmentalize himself.

He thinks of all the times he’s jumped in feet first, only to shatter on impact, or the times he’s never even let himself get past dipping a toe into frigid waters. This feels different, like a lake on a perfect summer night. He might not know the shoreline yet, but this feels like water he might be able to swim in.

Steve’s apartment is cleaner this time, since he knew Dan was actually coming. There are still papers randomly abandoned on a few flat surfaces, of course. Steve pulls him in for a tight hug, folding himself slightly and burying his face in Dan’s neck. They stand like that for a few minutes, Dan’s hand sweeping up and down his back in long strokes. Steve pulls back eventually and kisses him, quick and chaste and startlingly intimate. “Welcome back.”

Steve hands him a set of keys. “This way you’re not on my schedule all week, sometimes I lose track of the day and stay at work late and I don’t want you trapped.”

Before Dan can properly process this gesture, Steve’s talking again. “I have to head in, I have a meeting in an hour. Make yourself at home. I made reservations for eight. Is Italian okay?”

Dan nods, angling his face up for another kiss, and then he watches Steve head out the door. Standing there, in Steve’s kitchen, holding a set of keys—this feels like too much—living with someone for a week after so little time in the same place. But another part of Dan feels like maybe this is right somehow.

Dan has spent so many years keeping different areas of his life separate—family and work, especially—refusing any help from his dad, slogging through his MTV era trying to prove a point to himself. When he finally combined them, one of the best things in his life emerged. He’s trying to trust himself, instead of running away, to be left only with regret.

Dan showers and gets into bed with his laptop, not sure if he wants to work or sleep. Being here alone in Steve’s space, knowing Steve trusts him this much, makes him feel light and happy. Like maybe for the first time in a long time he’s the main character in his own life.

The Italian restaurant is a maze of cramped rooms, with a huge wood-burning oven in the center of the second room they pass through, before the hostess eventually deposits them at a table in a third room. An assortment of mismatched and haphazardly hung photos make it feel cozy despite the room’s dingy green walls. Steve insists they get the eggplant, which comes whole and charred. The waiter slices it in half after he sets it down, topping it with spicy olive oil and sea salt. It’s one of the best things Dan’s ever eaten. He orders a spaghetti al limone that makes him wish he knew how to cook. Steve orders a pizza with tiny meatballs and green peas and when Dan tries it, despite his misgivings, he has to admit it’s delicious.

**

Dan wakes up to Steve slipping out of bed. Dan tries to reach for him, but he can’t get his arms to cooperate. Steve kisses his forehead. “Sorry, I have an early meeting, I need to shower.”

“If you must,” he mumbles as dramatically as he can manage. Steve laughs as he heads to the bathroom. Dan lays there a few minutes, wishing they could have had a few more minutes together.

By the time Steve reappears in a towel, damp and slightly pink, hair wetly combed to the side, Dan has his glasses on and is working through the texts that accumulated last night. Dan watches as Steve gets dressed, admiring the lines of his body, the surprisingly graceful way he slips on his shirt. Steve efficiently knots his tie with an ease Dan’s never quite mastered. “It always takes me two tries,” he admits, already thinking about watching Steve loosen it at the end of the day.

Steve shrugs. “I guess this can be the single fashion related thing I do better.”

“I don’t know, I think you look much better in those khakis than me,” Dan teases.

Steve shakes his head with a smile. “I got a coffee maker, so help yourself. I would offer to make you some, but unless you want a mug of Diet Coke, you’re better off on your own.”

“You got—?” Dan asks. Did Steve get a coffee maker _for him_?

“Yeah, I just never needed one before. I don’t want you to have to go out every morning.” Steve leans over and kisses him, softly, and Dan grabs his tie to keep him from leaving, kissing him again, less softly this time.

Dan reluctantly lets go before he ruins Steve’s tie. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. It’s no big deal,” Steve says straightening up, grabbing his watch from the top of the dresser.

“Thank you,” Dan whispers. It _is_ a big deal though, is the thing. Dan already feels a little bad that he’s staying here so many nights and Steve clearly had his apartment cleaned again and now he’s purchasing things just for Dan and it’s—a lot. It’s kind of pathetic that Steve making a trip to Bed Bath & Beyond is probably one of the top five romantic things anyone has ever done for Dan.

“I should be home around six tonight, what’s your day like?” Steve asks, like this is something they do, have casual conversations while Dan is sleep-rumpled and Steve gets ready for work.

“I have a lunch and then another meeting, but I’ll probably be done around four.”

“You’ll beat me home. There’s wine in the cabinet by the door if you want. Help yourself to whatever you want.”

Dan swallows, feeling overwhelmed at how generous and kind and nice Steve is. “See you tonight.”

“See you tonight.” Steve drops a quick kiss on his cheek.

Dan eventually gets up to make coffee, and sees Steve left out a mug and a bag of coffee grinds for him. The mug has the iconic screen print image of Obama, with the word _hope_ across the bottom. Dan smiles, of course Steve has a mug from the 2008 presidential election. The coffee is surprisingly good, better than the coffee Dan buys for himself. Steve has both a small container of half and half and an oat milk creamer. Dan didn’t expect to start his day emotional over his dairy options, and the message on the mug is perhaps a little on the nose, but no less true.

He showers, his toiletries are already mixed in with Steve’s after he hesitantly left them there yesterday—six days seemed like too many to re-pack everything each time. It feels cozy and surreal, like he’s playing house, like he’s playing at having a personal life. Somehow, knowing he’s leaving in a few days, going home to his regular life, makes it easier to lean into this too fast, very lived-in version of whatever they’re doing.

**

Dan gets back to Steve’s around 5 and settles into what he’s starting to think of as his spot on the couch. He’s hoping to get some writing done before Steve gets home, and decides if he can get five good pages, he’ll open some wine.

It’s nearly 6:30 when he deems his words good enough for a break, and the apartment is dark and quiet around him. He turns on some lamps and opens some wine, grateful Steve didn’t catch him hunched over his laptop in the dark. There’s working a lot, and then there’s so absorbed you don’t realize it’s nightfall, and Dan thinks it might be best to keep the latter under wraps a little longer.

Dan sets back up on the couch with a glass of wine and a bag of Goldfish he found in the kitchen, and keeps writing, hoping to get a little more done.

Steve bursts in, breathless, “I’m sorry, I lost track of time.”

Dan looks at the time, shocked to see it’s been a whole hour since he got a glass of wine. “Don’t be sorry, honestly, I didn’t even realize the time.” Unthinkingly, Dan angles his head up for a kiss and Steve walks over, cupping his face in both hands and kisses him soundly.

When he pulls back, they smile at each other for a long second. “Let me get you more wine. How was your day?”

**

The next night, Dan gets home to find Steve dozing on the couch, a book resting on his chest. Dan moves the book and Steve blinks awake, pulling Dan onto him. “I’m going to crush you,” Dan laughs but he lays down anyway, fitting his face into the crook of Steve’s neck, letting the stress of the day seep out. Steve shifts slightly under him, his arms coming around Dan, one hand rubbing small gentle circles in his hair.

“Bad day?” Steve whispers.

“Just long,” Dan admits. “Not great. This movie might kill me. The scope is huge and there are so many moving parts and locations, trying to fit that all onto the shooting schedule... it’s just been a lot. I know it’s not my responsibility—but I want it to be a success. I just want to help where I can—maybe we can combine some scenes, if we can lose a set up here or there it might help Clea avoid some of the compromises she doesn’t want to make.”

They lay there for a while, Steve’s hands smoothing and soothing and settling Dan.

“How was your day?” Dan finally asks.

“Finally got a batch of data I had been waiting for from Arizona, so spent most of the day looking at that. Thinking about taking off a few weeks, try to figure out if this is a book or just something that will help my on-camera reporting.”

Dan hums in agreement, closing his eyes.

“How do you feel about grilled cheese for dinner?” Steve eventually asks.

“I feel great about that actually. A perfect food.”

“How convenient, it’s one of the few things I can make.”

Dan laughs. “I can’t even manage that most of the time.”

They get up, and Dan hovers nearby, resisting the urge to drape himself over Steve’s back as he moves around the kitchen, pulling out what he needs. Steve moves deliberately, but with the slight air of chaos that seems to follow him everywhere, assembling the sandwiches and placing them carefully into a frying pan over a low flame.

It seems to take forever, but when he flips them over they are perfectly golden. Dan lacks the patience and usually ends up burning his, but Steve is content to trust the process. They sit at the table, with beers and grilled cheeses, feet tangled together, and Dan could get used to this if he let himself. He thinks he might want to let himself.

**

On Friday, Steve gets them bagels and Dan makes coffee. They have breakfast together on the sofa, Dan’s legs thrown across Steve’s lap, a plate precariously resting on his shins.

“What are you reading?” Dan asks distractedly, answering texts one-handed on his phone.

“The Daily Racing Form,” Steve answers, without looking up.

“I’m sorry, what?” Dan puts his phone down, giving Steve his full attention. He has no idea what that is. He tries to peek at Steve’s screen, but it’s just a bunch of numbers, which is so, _so_ Steve. “Is that a car thing?”

“No, um. It’s actually horse racing.” Steve answers, a little sheepishly.

“Oh, okay,” Dan says. “You really like sports, huh?”

“What can I say?” Steve grins at him.

They stay on the sofa too long, Steve explaining the intricacies of a sport Dan didn’t really know existed in a meaningful way five minutes ago. They end up showering together to save time—which predictably doesn’t help and they both end up rushing to get dressed.

The van is waiting for Dan when they get downstairs, and Steve kisses him goodbye quickly, closing the door once Dan is inside. The location scout today is with a small army—Dan is the last one to get picked up. Dan is still always surprised at how many people need to be involved with each decision. He knows a writer wouldn’t normally be afforded the opportunity to weigh in on this, but he’s EPing as well, and everyone seems happy to have his hands-on involvement.

Clea’s busy shot listing and trusted him to be her eyes today. Dan ends up sitting next to Nick, the location scout, and they chat the whole way to Queens. When he’s done, he’s going to meet Steve and Mike at a sports bar off Second Avenue. It’s March Madness which Dan has gathered is sort of a big deal to Steve, based on the fact that he took the day off to watch games all day.

The climax of the movie takes place in a restaurant. Dan wrote the scene with somewhere historic and cozy in mind, nothing trendy, something that feels _authentic_ , though he hates giving that kind of vague instruction. The first place, in the depths of Queens, has potential. It has a little more wood paneling than Dan was hoping for, but it feels like the kind of place you could eat with your grandparents.

The second place, in Brooklyn, has mauve walls that make Dan feel itchy—in the location deck it looked dusky and warm. If Dan had realized it was going to look like the walls were coated in expired Pepto, he would never have suggested it for today’s agenda.

The third place has arched windows and creamy yellow walls, inching closer to what Dan was imagining. They make their way back to Manhattan, getting dropped off a last time and walking to a few places all within several blocks of each other in the West Village, ending at a restaurant on Cornelia Street with gorgeous rustic wood beams on the ceiling and a lovely little covered garden in the back.

“Can we sit for a few?” Dan asks Nick. He’s fairly certain this is the place he’ll vote for, he just wants to spend a little more time here to be sure. He tells everyone else he’ll see them Monday, and they split off into pairs for sharing cabs or walking to the subway.

The restaurant isn’t quite open yet for the day, but Nick knows the bartender and gets them each a glass of prosecco to drink in the garden. Dan likes Nick a lot, he’s unassuming looking, but he’s a walking database of this city and has been great at getting to the heart of what Dan wants for each location.

“So, is this how you imagined it?” Nick asks.

Dan nods, “I think so. This place is a little nicer but it has the right feel. Homey and accessible, but not too accessible—the sort of place where if you need to have a difficult conversation, you have to keep your voice down.”

Nick nods. “My friend says the owners are easy to work with, so hopefully we can stay under budget on this one. I know we might need the extra money to get the theatre.”

Dan shakes his head, that location has been the subject of his worst two meetings this week.

Nick nods. “I know. I have a list of backups if this falls through though, don’t worry. How long are you in town for?”

“Two more nights, but I can stay longer if Clea wants me to look at anything else.”

“Where are you staying this time?”

“Actually staying with—” Dan pauses awkwardly. What is Steve? What are they doing? “A friend.” Dan finishes lamely. He’s an adult man, he could say—the guy I’m seeing, or my boyfriend. Everyone on the planet knows he’s gay—and they saw Steve kiss him goodbye, clearly it’s more than a friend. It just seems like something he should talk to Steve about first, the word boyfriend.

Nick smiles knowingly. “Ah, sounds like it wouldn’t be the worst thing to be in town a few more days then.”

Dan grins, thinking about an extra couple of nights with Steve. “It really wouldn’t be.”

**

Nick points him in the right direction, assuring him it's only a twenty-minute walk to get to the bar. He’s right, it’s not that far, taking him through Washington Square Park for part of it, the iconic arch making him feel like he knows this city better than he does. Three blocks later he has to consult his phone, following a blue dot to a tiny sports bar on 7th Street.

It’s dark inside, with more taps and TVs than should be allowed in so few square feet, and it takes Dan’s eyes a second to adjust. Steve is waving from the corner of the bar, standing against a wall with Mike sitting next to him. Steve pulls him into a tight hug, then kisses him. “You’re here, how was it? You remember Mike?”

Dan leans in to kiss Steve one more time, soft and quick, but comfortable, before turning to Mike. “Hey, how are you?”

“Can’t complain, it’s my favorite time of year.” Mike gestures at the wall of screens with his beer. “And as an added bonus, I get to hear my dear friend here call the tournament like it’s the electoral college.”

Dan laughs as Steve pulls him close, wrapping his arms around Dan’s waist, hooking his chin over Dan’s shoulder.

“Can you at least buy the man a beer before you start attacking me?” Steve teases.

“Sure, sure. What’ll you have?” Mike asks.

Dan scans the bar, looking for a single recognizable beer tap. “Um, I’ll just have whatever you guys have.” There are too many for Dan to even begin selecting one.

Mike leans forward and flags down the bartender. A man with blond hair and brown eyes, who looks like he does something that involves using money to make money, waves at Dan over Mike’s back.

“Oh, sorry. This is my friend Adam. Adam, this is Dan.” Steve introduces them. “Adam is a reporter on _On The Money_.” Dan feels vindicated by his assessment, even if it wasn’t entirely correct.

“Nice to meet you.” Dan manages to get out before Mike hands him a beer. “Well, cheers.”

Mike and Adam refocus their attention on the screens when half the bar erupts in a cheer.

“Iona just scored, might be an upset.” Steve explains in his ear. He pushes at Dan’s hips until Dan is facing him again. “How was the scout?”

Dan wants to kiss Steve again—for asking, for caring, for the way he’s including Dan in his life. Steve must see something on his face, because he leans forward and kisses Dan, slower and sweeter this time, just a little too long to be proper in public in the middle of the afternoon.

“The restaurants?” Steve prods when he pulls back.

Dan feels dazed and overwhelmed by the care and attention. It’s nice though, that Steve is interested in all the parts of his life. “Good. We found one in the West Village. It’s a little more upscale than I anticipated, but it just feels _right._ The Queens one, that just needed like ten percent less wood paneling to work. Oh, and remember that one, in Williamsburg?”

Steve nods, Dan had shown him the deck last night.

“Well, the color was dreadful in person, it would have looked terrible on camera. The food smelled good though.”

“We should go sometime,” Steve says and then something happens in one of the games because he’s suddenly cheering loudly.

“Duke won, which is great for everyone’s brackets. Iona put up a good fight though. I’ll have to remember that for next year.” Steve reaches over Dan’s shoulder to high five Mike. “Do you have any photos?”

“I do, but that can wait.”

“No, I want to see. Show me,” Steve says softly into the quiet space between them. Dan nods, it feels like so much, to be here with all these people and still have so much of Steve’s attention. He pulls out his phone, swiping through the photos he took—the garden from a few angles, some shots of the interiors, a detail of the ceiling.

“I had envisioned the scene inside, but with a garden like that, we might move it outside. But I think we found the place.”

“I’m glad, Dan.” Steve's smile lights up his whole face.

“Okay, tell me more about these games.” Dan finds he means it.

“I’m rooting for Rhode Island, because New England. I also have Texas Tech going far this year. They have a new coach, and a powerhouse of a point guard—I’ve been watching them all season. So far in this game, both the assists and the rebounds are on pace to keep them in control—Marshall can’t seem to keep up.” Steve keeps talking, rattling off numbers that mean less and less to Dan, but Steve is so animated Dan doesn’t want to cut him off.

“Dan,” Mike yells and Dan turns around, leaning back into Steve. “Can’t believe you were brave enough to ask Steve about stats during March Madness.”

Dan bursts out laughing. “I’m trying!”

“You’re doing great,” Steve whispers, his lips brushing against Dan’s ear.

“I admire the effort,” Mike says.

A new set of games starts, with increasingly ridiculous names like Gonzaga and St. Bonaventure. Steve cheers loudly every time Loyola scores and Mike glares at him. This was a win Steve apparently predicted against the odds, written in the stars with some invisible ink only he can see in the numbers. More friends show up and Steve keeps happily introducing Dan to them. He hardly leaves Dan all night, hips touching, or an arm slung over Dan’s shoulders and Dan doesn’t think anyone’s ever been this glad to have Dan at their side.

When they get back to Steve’s, Dan feels almost frantic with need, but Steve slows them down, placing Dan’s hands on the mattress and pressing them down with an unspoken request to leave them there, taking his time with every inch of Dan. That night, in bed, when Dan cries out Steve’s name, it feels like an admission, a promise—like maybe they’re writing a future together.

**

“I might have to stay a few more nights, that theatre issue hasn’t been resolved. Would that be okay?” Dan fought the impulse to just book a room, and get out of Steve's space. The smile that spreads across Steve’s face is worth it.

“Very okay.” Steve feeds him a bite of pierogi, which they’re eating in bed again. They spent the morning in different corners of the apartment, lost to work, until Dan couldn’t take it anymore and pulled Steve back to bed.

“So then I’ll be here until Thursday.”

“Do you want to go out Wednesday night, or stay in?” Steve asks. Dan likes the way Steve always asks what he wants, that it’s no big deal to decide together how they want to spend their time together. Dan supposes it’s both not a big deal and a very big deal, it’s them being honest about what they want.

“In, I think.”

“Okay, maybe sushi? We can see. When are you back?”

“Production starts in a month and then I’ll be here for five weeks.” Dan probably doesn’t need to be in town for the whole shoot, but he wants to be. He’s put too much of himself into this script, into the pre-pro, to just abandon it.

“You’re more than welcome to stay here,” Steve says, taking a big bite of potato pancake.

“I—that’s a long time. I think the studio will get me a furnished apartment.”

“If that’s what you want. It’d be nice if you stayed here though. I’d like that. Think about it.” Steve leans over and kisses him, tasting faintly of applesauce and potatoes and sour cream.

“I’ll think about it,” Dan promises.

**

Dan does think about it. He thinks about it the last few days in New York, half-asleep with Steve’s arms around him and on the sofa eating farewell sushi in Steve’s sweatshirt and when he kisses Steve goodbye. He thinks about it the whole flight home and he thinks about it when he goes to sleep on the other side of the country alone. He thinks about it over brunch when Stacey tells him to stop overthinking it. He definitely thinks about it when the first thing he does each morning is check his phone for a message from Steve the entire first week back home in LA.

It feels too fast. Living with Steve could be extremely foolish, they haven’t even been in the same city for six weeks yet. This movie is important to Dan, and he wants to make sure he gives it the focus it deserves. He hasn’t ever managed a work-life balance, it’s always been very late nights and equally early mornings. He's never been in production and dated someone at the same time—he's never been with someone who he’s wanted to make space for. Will he be willing to put in the hours this project needs, knowing Steve is home waiting for him?

The thing is, staying with Steve didn’t distract him from work. Steve was more than happy to hand him a slice of pizza from his side of the sofa while they both worked. Steve ran late as much as Dan did, there was no pressure to run out of meetings. He thinks about Steve, that night at the bar, so happy to have Dan with him. Dan wonders if he’ll ever forgive himself for all the bad choices he made in his twenties—committing to people who weren’t deserving, staying when all the signs said _leave_. This seems like a good place to start.

In the end, the only thing he’s certain of is that he needs to talk to Steve. He calls him two weeks before he’s supposed to be there, curled up on his sofa, with a glass of wine to fortify himself. Maybe Steve won’t answer.

Steve answers on the first ring.

“Dan, hi,” Steves says, and Dan swears he can hear his smile.

“Hi.”

“What’s going on? How’d that call go?” Steve asks. Dan was complaining over text last night to Steve about a meeting with the line producer and it loosens a little of Dan’s anxiety that Steve remembers. Of _course_ Steve remembers.

“Were you serious when you said I should stay with you?” Dan blurts out instead.

“I was,” Steve says, easily.

“It’s a long time,” Dan says carefully. “Five weeks a long time to have someone in your space.”

“Yeah, I guess it is. Is that too long for you to not have your own space?” Steve asks.

“I don’t know. I haven’t lived with someone in a long time,” Dan admits.

“Me either, honestly. This just feels like a really good chance for us to figure out what this could be. But if you don’t want to, that’s okay, too. We can—um, we can figure it out.”

“I want to. I do want to. I think I might want it too much,” Dan confesses.

“I don't think too much is a factor here. I think we can just want it.”

“Is it too fast?”

“Maybe, but it’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way. It’s not like I’m inviting a stranger into my home. Let’s at least try, I think it’ll be good for us.”

“I’ll probably have a lot of luggage.” Dan almost says baggage, because that’s true too.

Steve laughs. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah, I think we will.” Dan grins.

**

Steve calls him the next night just to say hi, and the next afternoon Dan calls him. They talk almost every day, sometimes for a few minutes and sometimes for much longer. Each call makes Dan feel like there’s an _us._ Steve fits into his life, he seeps into the empty spaces, slowly expanding them rather than demanding time be carved out for him.

Dan arrives on a damp, gray Saturday in April, after a bad flight and with what he is rapidly concerned is too much luggage. He has a big suitcase, a smaller one, and a duffle bag, and maneuvering them into the elevator proves to be an ordeal. Dan gracelessly gets them in the hallway, trying to shake off the flight filled with coughs and the insane traffic from Newark. He had a whole vision of arriving put together and happy on a sunny spring day. Instead, there’s nowhere to hide his bad mood.

Steve opens the door and laughs when he sees Dan trying to make his way down the hall. “Let me, l’ll help.”

Steve hurries down the hall and takes the larger bag on wheels, and Dan trudges behind.

Dan’s luggage looks even more ridiculous in Steve’s small living room. Dan closes the door gently behind him. “It didn’t seem like that much when I was packing. Sorry.”

“Let me take these,” Steve grabs the duffle and the smaller bag, disappearing into the bedroom.

Dan stands there for a minute, wondering if this is a mistake. Maybe he should have gotten a separate apartment to hide all his clothes and bad moods. He takes off his coat and puts it on a hook next to Steve’s.

“How was the flight?” Steve asks, crossing the room.

“Terrible,” Dan admits. “The plane smelled weird and we hit a lot of turbulence. I thought they lost one of my bags and there was so much traffic. Do you mind if I shower?” Maybe he can literally wash his bad mood away. He’s been looking forward to being here for weeks, he needs to get to it together.

“Of course, go ahead.” There’s a note of concern in Steve’s voice, but he lets Dan go, pressing a quick kiss to Dan’s cheek.

Dan does feel better, in the tiny shower with Steve’s horrible green soap. He rinses his hair, because the water pressure feels good, but can’t be bothered to do anything more than comb it back. If they go out later, he’ll wear a hat.

When Dan emerges, Steve is sitting on the sofa, looking at his phone, with a baseball game on in the background. “Better?” he asks.

“Yeah, sorry I just. Needed a minute.”

Steve shakes his head the tiniest bit. “Don’t be sorry. You’re fine.”

“I’m here,” Dan says, the reality of it finally sinking in. He sits on the sofa, right next to Steve, in his space.

Steve lifts his arm for Dan to tuck under. “You are.”

Dan leans in, finally kissing Steve hello, the way he’s wanted to for three thousand miles and thirty days.

**

Sunday morning, Dan goes to unpack and realizes he can’t. This isn’t an apartment full of empty drawers, waiting for Dan to come fill them. This is where Steve _lives_ , and he’s everywhere, which is nice. Except, he’s also _everywhere,_ which means these drawers are spoken for. Dan shuffles some things around, so the things he needs this week will be mainly in one place. He can do this, he’ll just stay organized. He’s not going to ask Steve for a drawer, he has a coffee maker and a side of the bed. He can figure it out.

By Wednesday, when Dan needs to empty both suitcases onto the bed to find the sweater he’s looking for, it’s clear this is not going to work.

“What’s—can I help?” Steve walks into the bedroom and looks like he wishes he could back right out.

“I swear I packed it. It’s a lightweight camel crew neck sweater. I wanted to wear it over this.” Dan gestures at the white button-down he has on, with a pair of faded jeans. “I’m going to have to change.”

“Don’t you want to hang some of this?” Steve asks, from in front of his closet, grabbing a tie.

“Where?” Dan snaps, and then immediately feels bad.

“I guess I didn’t really think about your clothes. I’ll make some room tonight.”

“You don’t have to. I'll make this work.” Dan is still rifling through the pile of clothes on the bed, maybe he missed it.

“Dan, I _really_ don’t think you can. You can’t live out of a suitcase for that long. You shouldn’t have to.”

Dan stops and sits on the edge of the bed and watches as Steve looks through his duffle bag. This is exactly what Dan was trying to avoid, being demanding and high-maintenance and needy. “I’ll put it all back tonight, it’ll be fine.”

“I’ll help. And this weekend, we’ll go to get a bunch of that under the bed storage and more hangers. We should get you a night stand too, I thought of that the other day. I didn’t realize this was such an apartment for one.”

“I don’t—at least let me pay for it.”

“Is it this one?” Steve holds up a sweater triumphantly.

“I swear I checked there.”

Steve half shrugs, half laughs and hands it to him. “Better?”

“Better,” Dan whispers, pulling the sweater over his head.

That night, Steve helps him refold everything, and Dan manages not to freak out before work the rest of the week.

**

Saturday morning, they walk to The Container Store, spending an hour at The Strand on the way. Steve finds a book on the 1960 election he’s never read, and Dan loses time re-reading an Anne Carson book. They walk through the farmer’s market in Union Square—it’s crowded and huge, and Dan grabs Steve’s hand so they don’t get separated. The smile Steve gives him is small and private, and they walk side-by-side when they can. Dan buys some bread and cheese for later, and Steve gets them doughnuts for now. They eat them sitting on the low stone wall at the edge of the park. It’s domestic, like a montage out of a movie, complete with a sugary kiss at the end—it’s nice.

The Container Store is just a little further, huge, taking up the whole block. Steve grabs them a cart, and Dan follows him inside.

“I’ve never been here before. We should have made a list.” Steve looks unsure of where to go.

“We need hangers, at least,” Dan says. He’s never been here before either. His pantry in Toronto was sort of a mess, and when he moved into his house, Joanna and Clea and their team came and did their thing—organizing his closet and kitchen, the bins and drawers just appearing, everything in place by the end of the day.

They grab hangers and then aimlessly wander. Dan figures they’ll see what they need, but instead just feels more and more overwhelmed by the options. Steve seems more and more stressed and Dan hates that he did this, all his dumb clothes making them need to buy things for him to fit at Steve’s.

Steve stops short next to him in front of him and Dan crashes into his back.

“These should fit under my bed.” Steve grabs two long bins with lids.

“Are you sure?” Dan asks. He’s never been good spatially.

“Yeah, I measured.”

“When?” Dan didn’t see him measure.

“When you were in the shower. Don’t believe me?” Steve pulls up a note on his phone, holding it up as proof.

“I just didn’t know,” Dan protests.

Steve leads them down another aisle, stopping in front of a picture of a tall narrow shelf filled with neatly folded sweaters and a few baskets. “Do you think shelves would be good for some of your sweaters? My closet isn’t that big.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Dan says.

Steve takes a deep breath. “I _know_ , but we’re here and we need to make the bedroom work for us.”

Dan opens his mouth to disagree, but when the _us_ hits him he closes it. He nods. “I think that will work.”

“Do you like this color?” Steve points to a very ugly light pine wood.

Dan presses his lips together. If that’s what Steve wants it's fine. Steve just keeps looking at him, waiting for an answer. “I like the darker one better,” Dan rushes out.

“Was that so hard?” Steve teases, adding a long flat box awkwardly to their cart.

“Honestly? Yes.” Dan is too flustered to be anything other than truthful. He’s realizing he’s never done this before, lived with a partner.

“Well, better brace yourself, we still need to get you a nightstand.”

Dan widens his eyes—he had blocked that out—and Steve’s laugh rings out.

“C’mon,” Steve says, leading the way.

**

The furniture assembly goes well, mostly because Steve is very good at interpreting the vague drawings and identifying which is Side A and Dan is very good at handing Steve what he asks for. Dan starts unpacking for real this time, folding everything neatly. He gets a bunch of sweaters on the shelves and fills the basket they got for the bottom shelf with socks. He packed too many socks.

“Is this enough?” Steves asks, stepping back from the closet to reveal a section of waiting hangers. Steve already reorganized his dresser, clearing out two drawers as well, most of their contents going into the new under-the-bed bins, but some going into a bag by the door to be donated.

“Yeah, it should be fine.” Dan thinks he might need to keep a few things in his suitcase still, but that shouldn’t be a big deal.

“Do you need more? Another drawer, more closet space?”

“No, this is good. Between that and the shelf, I’ll figure it out.” Dan says gesturing to the shelf they built, now adorned with 10 neatly folded sweaters and a basket of too many socks.

“Dan. We didn’t spend all day on this for you to _figure it out._ Why are you making this so difficult? I’m asking you. Just tell me what you need to make this space work.” Steve's voice has a frustrated edge to it.

“I’m _not_ being difficult. I’m trying not to upend your whole space for a month.”

“I don’t care about the space.” Steve shakes his head. “I wish you would just talk to me.”

“I am talking to you.” Dan feels defensive and like a failure at this. It’s only been a week.

“You’re not answering my questions though. Is this enough space?” Steve looks at him, waiting for an answer, looking both kind and sort of annoyed.

“I said it’s—” Dan starts.

“Fine,” Steve finishes for him, a definite edge in his voice now. “You really weren’t kidding when you said this was hard for you.”

“How is this so easy for you?” Dan asks, annoyance in his voice now, too. He’s surprised Steve threw that back at him, but also not surprised he’s pushed Steve to a breaking point.

“It’s _not_ easy. But—I want to try. I want this to work. And I don’t want to spend every morning frantically helping you locate a sweater.”

“I don’t want to be someone who needs help finding a sweater.” Dan doesn’t really want to need help, period, if he’s being honest.

“So then, _tell_ me what you need.” Steve looks at him, throwing his hands up exasperatedly.

Dan feels frozen, between the truth and not wanting to ask for more from Steve. He’s already here—taking up half the bed and leaving mugs of tea out and his toiletries, he’s coming home tired and cranky and Steve just listens, somehow understanding that’s what Dan needs the most. Dan shouldn’t need _more_ when Steve’s already giving so much. He should have packed less stuff, but no matter how much he wishes he didn’t need more, he does.

“I might need more closet space,” Dan whispers. Why _is_ this so hard?

Steve turns back to the closet, pulling more things from one end, setting them on the bed. “Better?”

Dan nods, wordlessly. He isn’t sure how trying to be accommodating has made him feel so high-maintenance and vulnerable. This is the opposite of what he wanted.

“Are those empty now?” Steve points to Dan’s luggage.

“They are.”

“I’m going to put them down in my storage area, I’ll be right back.” Steve’s shoulders are tense and his voice is slightly clipped.

“Okay,” Dan whispers, watching Steve leave.

Dan sits on the bed, surrounded by piles of their clothes that need to be put away and tries not to cry. Part of Dan wishes he got the apartment, then they wouldn’t have to navigate all of _this._ But part of him. Part of him knows, Steve is giving him a chance at something real, something better than casual sleepovers and occasional dinner plans—something you have to try for. He stands up and starts hanging some of his shirts, Steve catching him pouting on the bed will only make him feel worse. Dan hears the door open and wonders if Steve is going to hide in the living room and leave him to clean up his own mess.

“Okay, that should help—getting those out of here. Give us a little more room.” Steve still sounds a little strained.

Dan turns and watches as Steve starts putting one of Dan’s shirts on a hanger.

“I want this to work, too. I’m trying. I just—I’m trying,” Dan says softly.

Steve smiles at him, fond and pleased, and Dan wants to kiss him, so much, so he walks over to him, and does, pressing their smiles together and pushing away his doubts, or at least trying to. Steve’s arms go around him, and Dan keeps kissing him, trying to show just how much he wants this to work.

Wednesday comes and goes without incident.

**

Dan thought maybe Saturdays at The Strand, followed by the farmer’s market and then Veselka in bed could be their weekend routine, but on Friday, when Dan’s pulling a shirt from the closet, Steve slips his arms around him and asks if he wants to go hiking. So now, he’s in Steve’s Jeep, drinking a very good iced latte with almond milk, heading out of the city. Steve drives with a relaxed energy, his knee against the door, one hand loose on the steering wheel the other on Dan’s leg.

“This is nice.”

“I’m glad you said yes, I wasn’t sure this was your thing.”

“I mean, a side effect of California.”

Steve navigates them north, until he’s parking in a long line of cars on a very windy road.

“Is this? What?” This doesn’t look like a trail at all. “You know I am not very….fit.”

“I know what you’re capable of,” Steve says, and the words are sweet but Dan feels himself blush. “Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

“Then, shall we?”

Steve gets his backpack from the trunk, then grabs Dan’s hand, and leads them into the trees. Dan is very concerned that he is going to need bug spray or a machete or an eject button, but then a path appears. Steve laughs at Dan’s very audible sigh of relief.

It’s actually kind of nice, it’s so different than anywhere Dan’s hiked in LA. There are trees everywhere, with tiny leaves sprouting and the sun is bright above them. Steve’s wearing...hiking khakis, which is so on brand, and so endearing, Dan smiles the whole way up the mountain. He’s not expecting much in terms of view at the end, but it’s stunning—they wind up at the edge of a cliff.

“What is that?” Dan asks, aiming his phone camera at the steel bridge spanning the river they are standing about.

“The Bear Mountain Bridge. I like hiking on this side because the park over there gets too crowded. There’s a pretty good BBQ place though, if you’re hungry.”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

Dan takes so many photos they all start to look the same, and one perfect selfie, Steve’s chin resting on his shoulder, the bridge in the background. They eat pulled pork sandwiches and share sweet potato fries and drive home holding hands. Maybe it doesn’t matter what the Saturday routine is, if they’re together.

**

“When did you get these?” Steve walks out of the kitchen with a bag of the everything bagel seasoning gluten free crackers from Trader Joe’s that Dan loves. “They’re really good.”

“The other night when you worked late, I stopped to buy real snacks. It was starting to be like living in a home for the elderly in 1994.”

“A home for the elderly? Is that what they call it in Canada?”

“Yes, but in Quebec they say it in French.”

Steve laughs. “You’re very funny. You could write for TV.”

“Ha ha ha,” Dan deadpans.

“Might even win some Emmys,” Steve laughs even more.

“Someone thinks he’s funny too,” Dan sends up a pointed eyebrow.

“Want to get salads from that place tonight?” Steve asks, offering Dan some crackers.

“Yeah, we haven’t done that in awhile. Do you think one of us needs to learn how to cook?”

Steve looks at him questioningly. “Do I seem like the kind of person who would be a good cook?”

“Do I?” Dan counters. Dan wants to be the kind of person who can make a meal for someone he cares about it, someone he lives with, but he’s the kind of person who has a can of tuna and a chopped up cucumber for lunch.

“So then, salad from that place? Unless you wanted to go out?”

“No, I still have some work.”

“Okay. I’ll order.”

“Can you also get an order of the—”

“I was going to.” Steve smiles and leans over for a kiss. “Just need to find my phone.”

“You can use mine.” Dan’s phone is right next to him, where normal people keep their phones. It amazes him that Steve can somehow misplace his phone so often in a space this small. Steve uses his face to unlock it, at this point he uses Dan’s phone as his own so they added Steve to Dan’s phone. Dan listens to Steve order Dan’s Greek salad with chicken and his Cobb salad, no bleu cheese and their side of mac and cheese.

“You got a text.” Steve hands him back his phone.

Dan reads it and smiles. “Are you free Saturday?”

“Well, I thought I had plans with my boyfriend.” Hearing Steve say that so casually, it’s a lot. Dan hadn’t really thought about it since that time he almost said it to Nick, but he supposes that is definitely what they are.

“You do, if you want. We can go to the Yankee game, I got us into a box. Well, the Boston game.” Dan quickly corrects, when Steve starts to protest.

“I didn’t know you liked baseball that much.”

“I like you that much,” Dan says, because it’s true. Steve smiles, the one that Dan always wants to kiss, and it’s worth the sincerity.

**

The game is fun, there’s beer and salty foods and Steve spouts stats at him the whole time, like they mean anything to Dan and alarmingly, around the 4th inning they _do_ start to mean something. He asks Steve to tell him the difference between a fly ball and a pop fly, the specificity of the phrase pinging something in Dan’s brain. Steve's face lights up and he leans over and kisses Dan, right then and there, before explaining it to Dan in that magic way he has of making everything understandable.

Steve insists they take the subway home, too—that it's part of the experience, and when the train lurches to a stop, Dan uses it as an excuse to press closer into Steve, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder. Steve wraps an arm around him, even though it’s warm with the crush of bodies and no air ventilation, and Dan realizes he doesn’t need an excuse to be close to Steve. Steve likes having him close.

The next afternoon, they have brunch plans with his parents. They’re in town to see a preview of Martin’s new play, which Dan can’t wait to hear about, but he’s… nervous. His parents are great, of course, and Steve is amazing—but Dan hasn’t really dated anyone, let alone anyone who he wanted to introduce to his family in a long time. They’re meeting at Norma’s at noon, since his parents almost always stay at the Parker Meridien. In the cab there, Dan is a mix of anxiety and excitement that is ruining his appetite, which is frustrating since he loves the eggs Benedict with artichoke and porcini-truffle sauce.

Steve pulls him in for a tight hug, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Okay?”

“They’re gonna love you—I just. Haven’t…”

“I know.” Steve kisses him again.

They talked about this last night, Dan admitting he was scared and Steve admitting how out of practice he was at all this, too. It made Dan feel better, knowing they were both still figuring some of this out.

Brunch ends up being really, really nice. His dad orders the oatmeal, of course, and asks Steve several slow questions about his life. His mom jumps in a few times, asking her own questions. At some point, Dan puts his arm around the back of Steve’s chair, resting his hand on his shoulder, and his parents smile at each other. After that, the whole meal is more relaxed, and Dan’s eggs are delicious.

**

Dan checks his phone again. It’s not _late_ late _,_ but it’s late for Steve. It’s almost thirty minutes later when Steve walks in, and Dan can immediately tell something’s wrong. When Steve kisses him hello, it’s off-centered and distracted.

“Everything okay? Want a glass of wine?” Dan asks.

“No, I don’t really drink wine that much.” Steve says, absentmindedly, heading into the kitchen.

“Then why do you always have it?” Dan is confused. He’s _seen_ Steve drink wine.

“For you,” Steve answers, like it’s obvious, appearing with a beer and a bag of the Trader Joe’s crackers. “Thanks for getting more of these, they’re addicting.”

Dan is about to protest. He doesn't need _Steve_ to buy him wine, he can buy it himself, but. Steve is holding snacks he can buy himself. “You’re welcome,” he says instead.

Steve collapses onto the couch, long legs sprawled out. “Some days I just feel like part of the problem. Today I did a segment that is so niche‚ it’s just. Are we even helping people, or just confirming their bias?”

“I think you give people the data they need to make an informed decision.”

“I hope so, but some days I’m not sure anymore.”

“I mean, you single handedly got America through the election,” Dan half-teases, half-points out but it doesn’t seem to make Steve feel better. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

Dan continues. “If I’ve learned anything, it's that you have no idea the reach you have when you’re doing the work. I’ve heard from so many people how my words have impacted them and I think that’s true for you, too. You make information and knowledge so accessible, people take that and can use it in ways you can’t imagine. You give people the ability to change minds with facts.”

“Dan,” Steve whispers his name like it’s a declaration, so full of affection it nearly undoes Dan.

“You’re doing something really important, honey. Even on the days it doesn't feel like it.” Dan realizes too late he’s called Steve honey, but Steve’s face relaxes a little at the words.

“I never thought about it that way,” Steve finally says. “That’s a nice idea.”

Dan sets his wine down and climbs over onto Steve’s lap, straddling his hips and slipping a hand around the back of Steve’s neck. “It’s true,” Dan says softly, running his fingers through the short hair there, looking right at Steve, willing him to believe Dan, to believe what he’s doing is _important_. Steve nods, the tiniest tip of his chin. Dan leans down to kiss him, fiercely and thoroughly. Steve tips his head back more for Dan, giving himself over to Dan’s mouth with a content gasp. Dan wants to make him feel this good all the time.

**

“You have to hurry, we're going to be late,” Dan yells from the bedroom when he hears Steve get home. Julia invited them over for pizza in her back garden. Michael and Trevor are going to be there too—it’s the first time Steve is meeting his friends. He thought he’d feel nervous but he doesn’t. Steve is—Dan isn’t worried. He has a good feeling about this.

“Sorry, I stopped to get the dry cleaning on the way home and it took longer than I thought. There was a line and—well. It doesn’t matter. Let me just change.”

“Is that—mine?” Dan asks, frozen in place by the sight of his sweater, covered in plastic, in Steve’s hands, the shoulders of Steve’s white button ups peeking out from behind the pink cashmere.

“Yeah—last week, I asked if you had anything that needed to go the dry cleaner, remember?” Steve looks confused by Dan’s reaction, which to be honest, Dan can’t really explain himself. He crosses the room, pressing Steve up against the wall and kissing him. It makes Dan feel emotional and cared for, seeing such an ordinary, boring detail of togetherness. Dan is overcome with affection for all the ways Steve lets him in, for all the ways Steve lays him bare.

“We’re gonna be late,” Steve murmurs as Dan kisses his neck, loosening his tie to reveal more skin. “At least let me hang up the dry cleaning.”

Dan does let him hang up their clothes, but they’re late anyway, undressed and redressed. Dan’s hair is a mess from Steve’s hands. It’s worth it.

“Finally,” Julia greets them, kissing Dan on both cheeks. “Steve, I’ve heard so much about you. I’m Julia. Come in, come in.” She kisses him, too.

“Sorry there was a drying cleaning...thing,” Dan gestures vaguely with his hands.

“A dry cleaning thing. Well, those can be tricky,” Julia says sagely, but Dan can tell by the look in her eye she’s not buying it.

She grabs Steve’s arm, giving him a brief tour on their way to the garden.

Trevor, Michael and Toby are sitting at a long wooden table dotted with candles, and Dan points everyone out. “This is my boyfriend, Steve,” he says, realizing this is the first time he’s said it out loud.

“Yes, they are _so_ sorry they’re late, they had a dry cleaning _thing,”_ Julia teases.

They sit on the bench clearly left open for them, space for the two of them at the end and Dan grabs Steve’s hand under the table, to reassure Steve, but also because he likes holding Steve’s hand.

Julia tells a story about how much food Dan ate when they worked together, timed perfectly as Dan takes a huge bite of pizza and can’t defend himself. Toby asks Steve about the game they went to and Trevor asks how his family is. It’s nice, being with all these people he loves at once.

**

“I don’t want to leave,” Dan whispers into Steve’s chest a few nights later, after dinner with Mike and Adam. Steve’s friends are so different from Dan’s. Steve is so different from Dan in so many ways, but he likes this, what they have. It works because beneath the surface, Steve understands the parts of him he has historically been rejected for. More than understands, Dan’s realized, he sees them as important pieces of Dan—sees how they make him whole, and values them and Dan, because of them, not in spite of them.

“Can you stay a little longer?” Steve asks, his hands running across Dan’s shoulders.

“Maybe a week, but then I really have to get back to LA.” Dan was worried five weeks would be too long, but the idea of leaving all this in six days feels too soon. At some point, this stopped feeling like they were playing house, and started being something real. Dan isn’t sure when it happened, but he loves the way they’ve learned to be together while Dan has been in New York.

“So stay another week. I can take off for a couple of days maybe.” Steve’s hand sweeps back and forth, again and again, grounding and comforting.

Dan nods, basically just rubbing his cheek into Steve’s chest. “Maybe. You can come to LA—if you wanted. Not that you have to.” Dan feels suddenly, strangely nervous. Is it selfish to invade Steve’s space for so long and then ask him to come visit him? Steve might need a break. But Dan thinks it might be easier to leave if he knows when he’ll see Steve again—and he knows he wants to see Steve again, and again after that.

“I’d like that.” Steve’s voice is soft, in the dark, but full of emotion.

“Me too.” Dan leans up and kisses him, losing himself into the easiness of being with Steve all over again.

**

They talk a lot. All the time, really—they both make texting a priority.

Steve promised him, when he was kissing Dan goodbye, that he’d be in LA in two weeks. Dan got embarrassingly teary, and so did Steve, until they laughed at themselves. Two grown men, clinging to each other next to a stack of luggage on the sidewalk, like some modern day rom com. Six weeks ago, Dan was used to being alone. Now, Dan doesn’t feel like himself again until Steve’s toothbrush is next to his—the sink is different, but the sentiment is the same.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Dan climbs into bed and cuddles in close. It’s too early to go to sleep, but Steve could barely stay awake and Dan couldn’t bear the thought of being downstairs when he could be here, pressed into Steve.

They find ways to fit together on this side of the country— pancakes in bed instead of pierogies, a winding hike along a dusty trail, working beside each other on a new couch. Steve makes a perfect grilled cheese in a different kitchen, and they swim and nap by the pool. They take advantage of Dan’s much bigger sofa, more than once.

Steve's head is resting on Dan’s lap and they’re watching the Belmont Stakes. Later, they’re having dinner with Stacey, the last important person to meet Steve. Sarah and Graham had them over for dinner last night, and Sarah made a terrible chicken dish they all pretended to like. Dinner with Sarah, brunch with his parents that time in New York—introducing Steve to his family has been surprisingly easy, despite the fact that Dan’s never really had any practice.

“If _Steel Roller_ wins this, he’ll be the 14th horse ever to win the triple crown. An additional twenty-three horses have won the first two legs—the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness,” Steve adds, clearly for Dan’s benefit. “But this track is the longest of the three, and the horses need to run a slightly different race. They’re not all capable. The longest stretch without a Triple Crown winner was from 1978 to 2015, but in 2018 _Justify_ won and based on some of the subtle shifts we’ve seen, I don’t think we’ll ever go that long again.”

“Do you think _Steel Roller_ will win?” Dan asks, running his fingers through Steve’s hair.

“Unlikely, he barely won the Derby, and that’s shorter than this. He can’t hold on to a lead that long,” Steve explains. Dan can’t imagine what it must be like to see the outcome of so many things so clearly. Sometimes Dan wonders if Steve saw what they could be, all the way back at the start. He’s always been more sure than Dan that they were on a path to somewhere—inviting Dan into his life, making room in his closet.

The race begins and Steve sits up, watching with his chin in his hands. Dan half-watches the race, and half-watches Steve. Predictably, Steve is right, a horse named _Target Gamble_ wins, the camera cutting to a very happy, very old man who the announcer proclaims is the owner.

“I was hoping he was going to beat the odds.” Steve shrugs. “But the numbers just weren’t there.”

“I love you,” Dan blurts out, shocking himself with the admission—even more shocked by how obvious it suddenly is, it’s been there for so long and Dan just didn’t see it. Steve looks surprised for a split second before his whole face is transformed by his smile, wonder and joy and love etched in every line on his face.

“I love you, too,” he says, leaning forward and kissing Dan, making Dan feel known and loved. Dan pulls him close, getting his hands under Steve’s t-shirt, finding that dip at the small of his back. It feels like they’ve been moving toward love all along, but Dan is still delighted by the results.

**

It’s not enough time, it’s never enough time. Dan feels like he spends the rest of the summer flying back and forth. He works remotely from Steve’s sofa as much as he can and Steve flies out to LA for a few days when he can. All Dan does is pack, unpack and repack—a constant countdown. The goodbyes don’t get any less tearful it turns out, not when Steve’s whispering _I love you_ against his lips each time.

They spend a long weekend for the 4th of July in Rockport with Steve’s family, going whale watching and eating lobster rolls. They spend a lazy afternoon at the beach, Dan applying sunscreen to Steve’s back every two hours. Steve’s family is _nice_ , and no one is into sports or politics as much as Steve, but definitely more than Dan. There is a determined need for information that runs through them all.

They spend a weekend in Muskoka with Dan’s family, his dad and Steve talking about the Blue Jays, Steve providing an in-depth analysis of their chances at the play-offs. They swim in the too cold but still perfect lake, and Dan wraps his legs around Steve, kissing him wetly in the sun. His mom proves again and again that she’s the funny one.

They spend a week in Barcelona—in bed, in the Mediterrean, in the rambling streets, holding hands and drinking wine. Dan takes Steve to the Miró museum and Steve makes them do a tour of the soccer stadium. They have cheese plates and Cava and a truly awful Sangria, kissing their way across the winding streets.

They start to have a life together.

**

In September, Steve flies out to LA for the Emmys to be Dan’s date. They talked about it on a starry night at the lake, and over pastries in bed in Spain, and late at night in Steve’s bed. They’re past flying under the radar; it’s time.

Steve’s here, in Dan’s bed, messy and sweaty and spread out next to Dan, almost a year after drinks at the dive bar on 7th and B.

“You’re gonna love Erica, she’s gonna be here around eleven with a bunch of options for you.” Dan hooks his foot over Steve’s calf, wanting the contact.

“What is she bringing?” Steve asks, quietly.

“Oh, I’m not sure, I told her about you and I looked at your sizes last time I was there. She’s got a good eye.”

“So you don’t know? Okay.” Steve’s voice is unreadable. Which… Dan is used to knowing Steve’s voice now. Dan turns on his side, but Steve just stares at the ceiling.

“What’s wrong?”

“I wear khakis from The Gap and I just took a pair of Prada pants off you.”

Dan is starting to feel this is a conversation he should have said pants on for. “Okay? But that’s why Erica is the best.”

“That’s not. You wore a skirt and won _nine_ Emmys and design your own eyeglasses. I’m…” Steve trails off.

“She’s not going to bring a skirt for you. I’m probably not even wearing a skirt this year. I told her classic for you, traditional, clean lines. You don’t have to worry.”

“I don't want to look like your Secret Service agent. I didn’t even pack an earpiece.” Steve is still staring at the ceiling.

Dan almost makes a joke about Steve being his Danny Concannon, but there’s something on Steve’s face that Dan knows a joke won’t soothe. “You won’t. You’re going to look amazing. I can’t wait to stand next to you.” Dan is not exactly sure what’s happening here.

“How come you never gave me a pair of your glasses?”

“Do you want a pair? I can get you one. I have some in the closet, we can probably get you lenses before Sunday.”

“No, I don’t want a pair.” Steve sounds frustrated now. Dan feels like he’s done something wrong, but he loves Steve. He’s not trying to change him.

“I didn’t think you did and you know what you like. What works for you. I’m not trying to change you. What’s going on?”

“I don’t want to look like your straight sidekick, Dan.” Steve finally rolls over to face him.

“I was hoping you’d look like my boyfriend.” Dan leans over, kissing him lightly, sliding closer.

“You’re just so visibly… out—you have so much presence, and I’m not doing… any of that.”

“You were out before me, publicly, you know. I kept that part of me private for a long time. There’s no right way to do any of this. I’d just like to do this with you by my side—but only if you’re ready.”

“It’s not being by your side that I’m nervous about. I’d like to think I’m good at that part.” Steve gets closer, sliding a hand over Dan’s hip.

“You’re _very_ good at that.” Dan leans in for another kiss. “I mean, also I think—people just seeing you attend things, with a man, is pretty visibly out. You are visible and you are out. I don’t ever want to make you feel like less.”

“That’s not—no. This is on me, this is my stuff. I love you.” Steve pulls him in closer still, until their noses are practically touching, tangling their limbs together. Dan knows Steve has struggled in the past, knowing how much to share or when to share. “I’m not nervous about you though.”

“It can be our stuff. I love you, too,” Dan whispers back.

In the end, Steve ends up picking a classic Paul Smith black tux, grinning at Dan when he comes out in it. “What do you think?” Dan tells him the truth, that he looks amazing. Dan ends up settling on a navy Tom Ford tux with a dusky pink vest.

“No skirt this time?” Steve asks later over pizza. They used the pizza oven Sarah gave him—he’s only used it a handful of times since she gave it to him, but he’s always impressed by how good it turns out when he makes the effort.

“No, that was for Schitt’s Creek, that year.”

Steve nods. “Makes sense. It still feels surreal to be doing all this, to be going to the Emmys.”

“Oh, I meant to ask. I was going to get a facial that morning, do you want one too?” Dan wasn’t sure what Steve was going to say, but wanted to at least offer. Joanna said she could fit them both in.

“Uh, I’ve never really—” Steve trails off.

“You don't have to,” Dan rushes out. “But it’s relaxing and it makes me feel better about my face being in front of so many cameras. You don’t have to though,” Dan repeats at the end.

“Sure, let’s do it. I trust you.” Steve shrugs and takes a bite of pizza.

**

Steve watches as Dan slips on the robe, hesitantly pulling his shirt over his head.

Steve is vibrating at a different frequency than usual. “We don’t have to—we can leave?” Dan offers. He never meant for this to be stressful.

“No, I just—I’ve never done this before. I’m not need-get-to-a-facial famous.”

Dan laughs. “That’s not a thing—I just like them. They’re relaxing, and then you look better after. And you’re more famous than you think.”

“I can’t believe I’m going to the Emmys with you.” Steve slides his robe on, and Dan gets close, tying it for him.

“I can’t believe I get to go to the Emmys with you,” Dan whispers, kissing him.

After, Steve looks… the same, maybe a little more relaxed, a little more glowing. “So what did you think?”

“I can see why you like that,” Steve answers.

“But did you like it?” Dan presses.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Okay.” Dan pauses. “Thanks for trying it with me.”

“I like trying new things with you.”

“I like trying new things with you, too,” Dan admits, pulling his shirt back on. Steve pulls him close and kisses him. Dan doesn’t expect Steve to like things just because he does, but it means a lot to him than Steve is willing to try for him.

It’s nice getting ready with Steve there. Being poked and prodded and smoothed, with Steve nearby, sneaking glances at each other. Dan can’t stop touching him, running a hand over Steve’s arm or shoulder whenever he’s within reach. It makes everything feel a little more real, seeing Steve in a tux, looking classic and handsome.

Steve is fidgety the whole car ride over, his knee bouncing incessantly, seemingly of its own volition. Dan rests his hand on Steve’s leg, to try to calm them both. This is Dan’s fourth time attending, but it’s the first time his personal life is going to be on parade. He’s a little nervous too, but it’s his turn to be the calm one.

The red carpet is horrible and hot and loud, a cacophony of _Dan_ being yelled by a faceless wall of cameras. Steve holds his hand tight as they make their way through the interviews. A surprising number of people make jokes that Dan found his very own Patrick, which leads to Dan repeating the same line over and over that he and Megan settled on, about real life being better than fiction. She offered to set up a pre-Emmy interview for them, but Dan and Steve decided they didn’t want to do press with the sole purpose of talking about each other. Dan hopes he hits the note of sincere yet vague. Someone asks Steve why he didn’t wear his signature khakis and someone from NBC teases that Steve should do some forecasting. By the time they make it inside, Dan feels like he’s run a marathon, and wishes that he could dump a cooler of champagne on himself. Steve kisses him then, like he knows.

A beautiful woman comes to get Dan about one-third of the way through the show to bring him backstage. Dan kisses Steve lightly, then again for just a second longer, trying to reassure himself. Steve smiles at him, intimate despite the venue and whispers _you’re gonna be great._ Dan pulls nervously at his jacket, willing himself to slip into on-camera mode, which finally kicks in right as he steps out on the stage.

It’s almost like watching someone else present, he always feels slightly removed from himself in moments like this—trying to focus on the words and keep his body relaxed but his face engaged but he slips back into himself, feeling joy when he gets to announce Kaitlyn Dever as the best lead actress in a limited series or movie.

The rest of the show is uneventful, but it’s nice to be there with Steve, to have someone to whisper to, someone to direct his incredulous looks at, instead of just off into some middle distance to an unseen camera.

The afterparties are fun, and it becomes a game to see which one of them someone is approaching, a litmus for cultural touchpoints. It’s a predictable whirlwind of introductions, meaningful conversations never happen at these things but someone always tries. Katie Couric of all people, whisks Steve away at one point and it takes Dan nearly an hour to find him again. Steve lights up when he sees Dan, pulling him in for a kiss. “Let’s get out of here?”

“Let’s get out of here,” Dan agrees. Steve loosens his tie, leaving it dangling around his neck and he looks criminally good. He blushes when Dan tells him so. They end up making out the whole ride home, and Dan feels so happy he can barely stand it.

**

October is a haze of work, ill-timed snacks instead of meals, writing and rewriting, staying up too late trying to perfect every single word in this cursed pilot script. It’s close, Dan can tell it's close. He has a meeting with Susan’s drama development team tomorrow at ABC, and Dan is pretty sure this is a done deal, but you never really know. Susan will be there and she seems very enthusiastic, which is good—Dan has a pretty good handle reading her at this point and all the lights are looking green. He _wants_ this to be a done deal, he can see the whole show. It took a long time to shift all the pieces around into an arrangement that works.

It’s nice to feel this clicking into place, but it means staying in LA for meetings and lunches, which means _not_ flying to NY to work curled up on Steve’s sofa in stolen socks.

The meeting goes well—really well, actually. Susan officially greenlights the pilot, which means in March Dan gets to be with Steve again while they shoot. He calls Steve on the drive home, he can’t wait to tell him.

“It’s going to happen. They ordered the pilot. Can you believe it?” Dan can barely believe it, like somehow his optimism was going to be misplaced.

“I can absolutely believe it, I have champagne and everything.”

“Wait—at work?”

“That wouldn't be very—”

“Are you here?” Dan practically—definitely yells into the phone.

“Hurry home, we have a lot of celebrating to do,” Steve says, a cork popping in the background.

“Fuck, I love you.”

Dan drives faster than usual, hurrying home—home to Steve, who flew to California to see him.

Steve is sitting at the island, looking freshly showered, in sweatpants, working on his laptop with a bottle of champagne and two flutes sitting next to him. He barely gives Steve a chance to stand up, flinging himself into his arms. “You’re here.

“You did it.” Steve kisses his forehead, his cheek. “I told you.”

“You were right,” Dan agrees. Steve has been telling him for weeks that it's amazing, that this concept, centering a show around a small cafe in New York, the regulars, the employees, the personal bonds that form was a great idea, something that Dan could use to tell all kinds of stories.

“I’m so proud of you,” Steve whispers before kissing him, and they end up doing a lot of celebrating right there in the kitchen, before bringing the champagne upstairs. Later, Dan will call his friends, let his parents know, but this—Steve here, is perfect.

**

He loses Steve for a few days in early November to the US elections, watching Steve cover the House of Representatives races, sending occasional texts. It reminds Dan of 2020, of watching a stranger break down the numbers to a granular level. This time, Dan’s not watching a stranger, he’s watching Steve, gesturing with both arms, wearing the sneakers Dan got him for his birthday. This time, he’s not wondering about the weird burnt siena pants, he knows they are khakis from the Gap, with a 34 inch inseam, and covering a small birthmark on their owner’s inner thigh.

Steve calls him Thursday night on his way home from the studio. They finally, _finally_ called the 13th District in Georgia. “I miss you,” Steve says instead of hello. “Can you come soon?”

“I booked a flight for tomorrow night.”

“When?”

“When you went off the air,” Dan admits.

“Oh, thank god. I’ll probably have to go in Sunday but—”

“That’s okay. I just want to see you.” It’s only been three weeks since Steve was in LA, but the distance is getting harder, not easier.

Dan gets there early Saturday morning, exhausted, and lets himself in. Steve is still sleeping, playing catch up from days on-air. Dan rinses the plane off him, and finds one of Steve’s t-shirts, before he climbs into bed. Steve shifts, wrapping his arms around Dan. “Hi, baby,” Steve whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of Dan’s head.

**

“So we should talk?” Steve’s voice goes up alarmingly at the end and Dan reverses course, setting the bite he was about to take back down. They’re at the place with the good eggs that Dan likes and he doesn’t know what exactly Steve wants to talk about.

“Okay.” Dan folds his hands in his laps, trying not to assume the worst. Steve holds out his hand and Dan lets himself be reassured, placing his hand into Steve’s, warm and comforting.

“So we haven’t really talked about the holidays. And my parents asked if we were going there for Thanksgiving—and I guess, I didn’t know. It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone to make plans with.” Steve’s thumb is tracing a slow circle.

Dan laughs, relieved. “God, we’re terrible at this. Do you want me to come?”

“I do.” Steve visibly relaxes and Dan wishes he could kiss him, but the table is too wide between them so Dan settles for hooking his foot around Steve’s ankle.

“I already told my family I’d be in Toronto for Christmas—I should have talked to you, I guess? It’s been a long time for me, too.”

“We’ll plan better for next year, I promise.” Steve squeezes his hand.

 _Next year._ Dan believes him, squeezing his hand back. They’re getting good at this, making space for each other. By the time Dan finishes his eggs, they decide on Thanksgiving together and Christmas apart, but they’re going to rent a house for a week to ring in the new year together.

Steve holds his hand the whole time.

**

Thanksgiving with Steve’s family is like an SNL version of a Norman Rockwell painting. Steve’s mom, Anne, won’t carve the turkey but offers a steady stream of advice to his dad, who is wielding the knife in such a way that Dan wonders who is going to get sliced. Steve eventually steps in, taking the knife and handing it to his sister, who silently carves the bird. Steve's aunt and uncle are there as well, taking in the scene with quiet looks. The food is surprisingly tasty, once the turkey is plated, the conversation veers into the same intense, stat-driven conversations they had this summer, that still sound just like arguments to Dan. Steve squeezes Dan’s thigh under the table and gives him an extra roll.

They have three kinds of pie, which Dan definitely approves of, and then watch a channel called ESPN Classic and watch basketball reruns and then fight-but-not-fight over which players are the best. Dan whispers to Steve, “I didn’t know they syndicated sports?”

Steve laughs and stands up, pulling Dan with him. “Dan and I are going to go for a walk.”

Steve grew up on the edge of the town forest, complete with trails, and of course he made sure to tell Dan to pack sneakers. It’s nice out, sunny and crisp—and quiet. So quiet.

“I bet it’s beautiful here in the fall,” Dan says, looking at the tall, bare trees around them.

“It is, actually. We can come up if you want. There’s actually a town two hours east of here, with a contemporary art museum you might like—it’s like that place Dia:Beacon we went to, sort of.”

Dan smiles at the memory, that was a good weekend. They drove two hours north of the city and stayed at a cute hotel on the Hudson. They got massages and Dan took too many photos of Steve in a room of Warhols. “That would be nice.”

“It would. There’s a small three-mile loop—feeling up for it?” Ever since the time Steve took him on a mostly vertical hike with no warning, he checks in before they set out.

“I think I can manage that,” Dan says.

Steve pulls him in for a kiss. “I think you can, too.”

It’s a pretty easy loop, and when they get back, Steve’s sister insists they play Scattergories, which thankfully is one arena of Kornacki competitiveness where he can hold his own. Game after game, category after category, even as Dan beats Steve, Steve’s there, arm draped across the back of Dan’s chair. The way he smiles at Dan makes him feel more like a winner than the final tallies.

That night, Steve is wrapped around him, his chest pressed into Dan’s back under a plaid comforter. The room is weirdly bland, a queen size bed and an austere desk, a few black and white prints of sports things on the wall. “Did you parents change your room, or is this how it was?”

“It was like this but—I had things that I took with me. It’s like the shell of how my room was—I had sports pennants and I used to pin tickets from games to the wall, and I had a poster of all the presidents. I was very cool.”

“Well, we won’t be discussing my teenage decor choices, but—I’m not in a position to judge. I can see it though, how it was.” The room is missing the avalanche of paper that follows Steve everywhere, rolled up in hand, abandoned on tables, post-its stuck to his monitor.

“Can’t believe you beat me every time tonight.”

“I can’t believe you thought you stood a chance. My vocabulary is all I have.”

“And your looks. You’re a very attractive man.” Steve laughs.

“Okay, are you saying I’m not attractive? Because that’s not nice.”

Steve nudges his nose into Dan’s ear. “I think you know what I think of you.”

“I do,” Dan agrees, wiggling further back into Steve’s arms.

“I’m glad you're here,” Steve whispers into the dark.

**

“So you didn’t want to bring that Steve here for the holidays?” His dad asks. Dan knows he’s being sincere, but _that Steve_ makes him roll his eyes anyway.

“Yes, that Steve is always welcome,” his mom agrees, setting a brisket down on the table. It’s Christmas Eve and the seventh night of Hanukkah. Tomorrow they'll do a Christmas ham, a whiplash of food that Dan is very much looking forward to.

“Maybe next year. I had already booked my flights this year when we talked about it.”

“I’m sorry, next year?” Sarah asks incredulously.

Dan nods, taking a sip of wine, ignoring the silence.

“Well, isn’t that something,” Eugene says.

“Sounds serious,” Sarah needles, dragging out the e, but she looks happy for him.

“How was Thanksgiving with his family?” Graham asks.

“You had Thanksgiving with his family?” Deb looks at him in that way she has—seeing everything. Dan nods. “How was it?” she continues.

“It was good, Steve was happy I was there.”

His mom pats his shoulder. “I’m sure he was. Were you happy to be there with him?”

Dan feels every single person turn and wait for his answer. This is worse than the red carpet. “I was, yeah.” Dan admits. “I beat him at Scattergories.”

The rest of the meal—the rest of his trip really, ends up being a show-and-tell of his feelings for Steve, which apparently are not so easily hideable anymore. It’s a little scary, revealing over and over that he’s in love, but there’s no way to keep the Steve part of his life separate anymore.

Amy asks a million questions about Thanksgiving and demands to meet Steve the next time she’s in New York. Noah and Clare both hug him excitedly, Noah wants them all to go to the lake next summer. Andrew asks to see pictures and smiles knowingly at the sheer volume Dan has on his phone of Steve.

It will be nice to have Steve with him next year.

**

Dan's flight to Boston is delayed, then delayed again, and by the time he’s waiting for Steve to circle and pick him up, he wants to cry and definitely doesn’t want to drive two hours to stay in a beachside cottage in Maine in the middle of winter. It sounded cozy, him and Steve, nothing but time—snowy walks on the beach, lobster by the fireplace. Now, the reality of snow and ice and the fact that neither of them can cook is sinking in. They should have just spent New Year’s in New York.

Steve puts the car in park and gets out, helping Dan with his luggage and pulling him into a tight hug. Dan feels some of the annoyance seep out of him as he leans in for a kiss. They stand there, kissing, Steve kissing each indignity of air travel away.

The ride isn’t terrible—Steve navigates them over salt-stained roads, piles of snow in the periphery. Steve has on some nondescript jazz, the sort of music that Dan always thought he’d grow into but still never really seeks out. It’s nice though, Steve’s hand on his leg, listening to Steve talk about his Christmas.

“Katie, my sister—”

Dan laughs, “Honey, I remember your sister’s name.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Anyway, she’s working on developing a new course on political literature in America, and it was really fun to weigh in on her potential syllabus.”

Dan smiles, it’s so _Steve_ to think that’s fun. “That sounds nice.”

“It should be, she’s selecting works that span both time and the globe, trying to show how the advances are always accompanied by the same pitfalls. There’s a fascinating repetition throughout history that should be notable when viewed through the lens of today’s political climate. I think she should split it, the first half of the semester a wide historical view, and the back half focusing on the US in the last 50 years or so—there’s a lot of great recent work.”

“Trying to boost your book sales?” Dan jokes.

“I would never,” Steve says, somberly, but he’s smiling at the road. “Okay, I was thinking we should go straight to the store for provisions.”

“Ugh, do we have to? I just want to shower.” Dan can’t keep the whine out of his voice.

“Well, it’s supposed to snow tomorrow afternoon, and I didn’t want to have to get out of bed early.”

“These are terrible options.” Dan doesn’t want to get up early tomorrow either, he’s been looking forward to a lazy morning in bed with Steve all week. Dan contemplates asking Steve to go back out, while Dan showers, but the only thing worse than going to the store now would be being snowed in with Steve’s snack choices.

Steve doesn’t say anything just waits, tapping Dan’s thigh to the music.

“We can go now,” Dan finally says.

“What a good idea.” Steve laughs lightly. Dan knows he’s being ridiculous, but Steve knows too—a joke they’re both in on.

They pull up to a small house with a little porch to the right, in a suspiciously cheery shade of blue. Dan can at least see the ocean between the houses, a flat gray color today. There’s an ominous pair of snow shovels bungee corded to the railing. Dan trusted Steve to pick out the rental, and this is not exactly the cedar shingled, peaked roof, adirondack chair dotted dream he was imagining.

Dan walks in, exploring room after wood paneled room filled with leather sofas and every striped comforter Bed Bath & Beyond has ever made. Steve will not be in charge of lodging ever again. At least, the master bedroom has a king—now that they got one for Steve's apartment, it's hard to imagine folding into anything smaller. They had to buy smaller nightstands, but it’s worth not waking up with his feet hanging over the edge of the bed because Steve’s cuddled up to him. It takes several trips to get all the groceries and luggage in, and Dan leaves Steve to unpack the food, praying the water pressure is better than the decor.

The shower helps, it’s nice enough and thankfully very, very clean. Dan finds Steve in the kitchen on his laptop. Steve looks up at him. “Do you mind?”

Dan holds up his own computer as an answer. “I’ll be on the sofa though.”

“I’ll be in soon.”

Dan pulls open the script notes for _Please Wait to Be Seated_ and starts sorting through them. The show is actually going to shoot in New York instead of on some LA sound stage, which is amazing. Some of the notes from Susan are helpful and insightful, and some are sort of terrible, the kind of stuff that turns something special into a bland fast food french fry of a concept. It’s always a balancing act with the network, but he’s grateful they trust him as much as they do—it makes it easier to navigate.

Steve finally comes in, and flips on a lamp. As usual, Dan didn’t realize it had gotten so dark. Steve’s holding a glass of wine out, which Dan accepts gratefully.

“You done for the day?”

“I can be,” Dan shuffles on the sofa, curling up his legs to make room for Steve.

“Me too.” Steve reappears with a bowl of potato chips and beer, sitting in the space Dan left for him. “What were you working on?”

“Notes. Some are decidedly not helpful, but some are—the line notes, punching up some of Abigail’s stuff, which I kind of already knew needed to happen. Susan is on the same page as me, for the important parts, so that’s good at least. I know one of the big criticisms of _Schitt’s Creek_ was that it wasn’t diverse enough. I don’t want to make that mistake again.”

“Let the casting directors help with that. I know you like to be involved but, you can’t do it all alone,” Steve says, and Dan forgets sometimes that Steve knows about his world too, that he studied Film and Television—that he understands the workings of things outside a big map and 30 Rock.

“You’re right, and I’m definitely not going to cast this show here—we’re not casting until mid-January.” Dan closes his laptop decisively, setting it on the coffee table.

Steve feeds him a chip. “No you’re not.”

“What were you working on?” Dan asks, opening his mouth for another chip, which Steve makes Steve laugh as he feeds him another.

“I was making notes for something I’ve been thinking about. Do you remember in March, when we watched the basketball tournament? One of the best things about it, is occasionally a small team does exceptionally well—and I love that moment when everyone is rooting for an unknown. Or like—fantasy football. Do you know what that is?”

Dan nods. “I mean, that it exists, yes. Something with building faking teams and then tracking real players? I googled it once. Clearly, I don’t participate.”

Steve laughs. “Didn’t think you did. Okay but, the thing is, it’s completely changed the way people watch football. Gone are the days of following a single game—just watching your team. You’re invested in the people. That’s the other thing—when Tom Brady betrayed us and moved to _Florida,_ bars in Boston started showing the Tampa Bay games. It’s just—I wish we could apply that to politics. We had a glimpse of the nation caring about the Georgia Senate run-offs, but that was a singular moment. I’m not sure how, but there’s got to be something. Re-humanizing people. I’m rambling, I haven’t quite figured it out yet.”

“Ah, sort of like reverse cancel culture.” Dan smiles. It's amazing to watch Steve string together ideas.

“What’s that?” Steve asks.

Dan smiles even more because of course Steve doesn’t know what that is. “It’s when someone makes a really terrible mistake and then they get completely ostracized for it, instead of getting a chance to redeem themselves. I mean, it misses a lot of nuance—not everyone deserves a huge public second chance, some people absolutely deserve to be fired. Living so publicly though, it can be scary to feel like you’re always one misstep away from your complete demise.”

Steve nods. “Right, like Brady was an absolute fool to leave the Patriots but I won’t walk out of a bar showing him playing for a new team.”

“Right. Like that.”

“Well, something to think about. I’d love to thread it back to politics, but I might even just outline how sports viewership has shifted in the last decade or so.”

“Sounds like the beginning of something, either way,” Dan agrees.

Dan wakes up to the loudest quiet—it’s like being in a carefully calibrated white noise machine. Steve is warm next to him, lightly snoring. Dan thinks maybe he can hear the ocean, but it’s hard to tell with the wind pinging tiny icy drops into the house. He rolls over and frees an arm from the blankets—what it lacks in aesthetics it makes up for in warmth—and grabs his phone. He checks a few emails, but it’s a quiet week, and instead opens a book.

He only reads a few pages before Steve’s kissing the back of his neck, fitting his chin over Dan’s shoulder. “What’re you reading?” Steve whispers, sleep still clinging to the edges of his voice.

“A book about a cranky, lonely old man. It’s very sweet and funny.”

Steve repostitions himself around Dan, and Dan holds his phone so they can both see it. Steve tips his chin into Dan’s shoulder when he’s done with each page slightly before Dan is. They read an entire chapter this way, and then head to the kitchen to make coffee and scrambled eggs.

They spend most of the morning working, eating snacks, pausing for occasional kisses. Midafternoon, the sun peeks out and Steve shuts his laptop decisively. “Let’s go for a walk?”

“Give me five minutes to finish this?” Dan asks. Steve nods, of course. Dan is reviewing the list of potential Abigails—Steve was right, the casting directors were helpful. Steve comes back a few minutes later, kissing him, peeking over his shoulder at the names—Arianna DeBose, Adrienne Warren, Maya Erskine, Ashley Park.

“Are those characters or actors?”

“It’s a casting list.” Dan laughs, closing his laptop. Dan unearths his boots from the bottom of his luggage, glad he knows his boyfriend well enough to know there would be snowy, sandy walks. Steve grins when he sees them.

The beach is nearly pristine, marred only by bird footprints, blanketed in an even white layer, straight to the water's edge. The beach is wide and the water is gentle, surprisingly so, lapping at the shore more like a lake than the Atlantic. They walk to where the ocean dissolves the snow, and stand there for a few minutes, Dan slipping an arm around Steve.

Steve points out at the water, at the rock formation peeking out of the water’s surface. “At low tide, you can walk out to them, climb on the rocks. When we were little, Katie and I used to spend all day tracking the tide so we could go out there. Do you want to go left or right?”

Dan looks one way, then the other, the beach curving delicately but not quite identically in both directions. “Whichever?”

“There are preserves at both ends. I’ve always been partial to the one to the left—as long as it’s not high tide you can walk through the water and get to it. Don’t worry—I mean in the summer.”

Dan laughs, relieved. “Let’s go left then. Have you ever been to the Bay of Fundy?”

“I have. How did you know?”

“Well, you’ve mentioned the tide here about nine times, so I just had a feeling that you’d been there.”

“Have you been?” Steve asks.

“I haven’t. We learned about it in school.”

“We should—it’s really quite something. The tide comes all the way up to the cliffs and in just a few hours, is back out hundreds of feet, revealing all these fossils. It’s amazing.”

“It _sounds_ amazing.”

Steve leans forward, brushing his very cold nose against Dan’s very cold cheek, kissing him, his mouth warm.

They walk to the left, two sets of footprints, and Dan can’t help but think it would make a nice wide shot. They follow the curve of the beach—there’s something about being here in the winter, just the two of them that makes it feel sort of magical, like it's all theirs. Steve takes off his gloves to take a couple of terrible selfies, both of them red-cheeked and smiling too big, before they head back.

“Bed?” Steve asks, taking off his jacket when they get back to the house, not waiting to see if Dan will follow—they both know the answer is yes. Steve takes his time, his mouth moving in a glacially slow, unbearably hot path across Dan’s skin. There was a night at The Standard, so many, many months ago, when Steve whispered _show me what you like_ and watched intently as Dan touched himself. Steve uses that knowledge now with spectacular skill—sometimes with a knowing efficiency that unravels Dan so quickly he doesn't know what happened. Other times, like now, he meanders, following a trail only he knows, long and circuitous, but Dan knows to trust the destination—to trust Steve. Here, in a room with wood paneling, in broad daylight, Steve makes him see stars.

It’s snowing again. Dan can just make out big flakes falling in the dark. Steve is supervising a pot of sauce—Dan found a recipe on the NYT cooking app that only called for tomatoes, onion and butter. He figured even they could manage that. Steve laughed that Dan even _had_ the app, and Dan protested with faux-indignation until Steve opened him wine.

Dan is in charge of garlic bread. The whole thing is cozy, Dan’s in Steve’s socks and Steve’s in one of Dan’s sweaters. Dan wiggles his toes and smiles, Steve packed extra socks, specifically the ones Dan likes best that he always steals when the apartment gets cold.

“When we start looking at places in the spring, we should get something with a bigger kitchen. How’s the garlic bread coming? I’m not sure how broken up these tomatoes are supposed to be.”

Dan looks up, trying to figure out what Steve means. “To come back here in the spring? I’m going to be shooting.”

“No, I know that. Apartments. What I have isn’t going to work for us if you’re going to be in New York even more. And it’s nice to be cooking together instead of you watching me make grilled cheese from the hallway.”

“You don’t have to—I’m going to be shooting.” Dan is struggling to keep up after everything Steve just said.

“Right, hence the apartment. We have a 40% of the time in New York solution, but I think as that number goes up, the number of closets will need to as well. Maybe a second bedroom to use as an office.”

“But you live there,” Dan says, dumbly.

“I just thought—were you not planning on living together?” Steve asks. He’s not stirring anymore.

Dan feels frozen in place, and he knows he has to tell the truth. If he's learned anything since that day at The Container Store, it’s that Steve will hear him. Dan feels bad for taking up so much space, despite how much room he’s made for Steve. It’s a lot to be so seen—in the wide open space they’ve created, there’s nowhere left for Dan to hide.

“I’m going to be working long hours,” Dan says carefully. “You might not like me when I'm working on a show. You might not want to live with me.”

“You already work long hours. I know you work a lot. So do I. If we don’t live together, when will we see each other? That’s not even—the point is I do want to live with you.”

“I—yeah. Me too.” Dan sets down the butter knife he’s been clutching. Dan feels the smile spread across face, something else releasing too, some last secret fear he didn’t realize he was holding so tight. “Me too.”

“I would like to stay in my neighborhood—ideally within Veselka’s delivery zone,” Steve says, like it’s no big deal, like they’re inevitable, like he’s not the first person to plan a future with Dan ever.

“I very much agree.” It’s slowly become one of Dan’s favorite routines, eating pierogies in bed. They went for brunch once, but it felt wrong, too intimate for so many spectators. “An office type room would be good, too.”

The pasta ends up being delicious and the garlic bread is only a little burned. Dan thinks with a little practice, it’ll turn out just right. They’re getting pretty good at this, Dan realizes looking at the empty bowls.

Dan works most mornings, and they take turns making eggs. They get clam chowder and lobster rolls for lunch one day from a place whose menu proclaims _ALL Dinners here are Fried._ They go for walks most afternoons, and one night they stand on the beach and try to find constellations using an app Steve has on his phone.

Another night, Dan shows Steve he’s not the only one who’s been paying attention, taking his time using his mouth, using his fingers in the slow, deep way that is Steve’s favorite, until Steve is shaking under him. Dan doesn’t want the week to end, but of course it does. On the drive back to New York, Dan changes his flight back to LA to the next week. He's not ready to leave.

**

“How’d it go yesterday?” Steve is kissing across his chest, up his neck and it takes Dan a second to hear the question. He got home late last night after wrapping on the pilot, and Steve was already asleep.

“It went—it went really well. I know I was an anxious nightmare, but every single thing looks exactly like I wanted and—Ari’s just—it was amazing. She’s really fucking good, and she _gets_ Abigail _—_ gets the whole world I’m trying to build.”

“I’m glad,” Steve says, lips brushing against his, kissing him finally. It’s been a long ten days, and Dan is excited that all he needs to do today is to be here with Steve. “I think,” Steve continues, pulling back ever so slightly, “we should stay in bed all day.”

“Pierogies too?” Dan asks, he can’t think of a better way to spend his first day off in weeks.

Steve laughs and kisses him again. “Yeah. Of course. And, I found some apartments to show you.”

Dan blinks slowly, letting it sink in. He knows he hasn’t been present this week, staying up all hours, leaving early before Steve was even awake some mornings, distracted when he was home. But Steve didn’t say anything, he just sent Dan texts checking in during the day. One night he made Dan grilled cheese at midnight. He met Steve and Mike at that sports bar again for the basketball thing, and couldn’t stop checking his phone and Steve wrapped his arm around him and got him a beer and now is just looking down at him, talking about moving in together anyway.

“Show me now?” Dan asks.

“We can do that.” Steve drops a kiss on his forehead and goes to grab his laptop.

Dan tucks himself into Steve’s side and watches as he pulls up a spreadsheet full of links and opens the first one. “This one is just a couple of blocks away. Then there’s this one, I liked how many windows it has. This apartment gets kind of dark.”

Dan smiles and leans in closer to Steve, looking at the rooms that will house their future. He turns to look at Steve. “I can see us there."

**Author's Note:**

> an additional missing scene can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29345478)


End file.
